Light of Reason
by SheenaAnn
Summary: The Emperor is not the only anathema that is created against the forces of Chaos. At the end of the Aeldari Empire moments before the Fall with the sacrifice of some of the Aeldari's most noblest Seers is born a goddess whose created would be a voice of reason and light on a dark galaxy embroiled with death and war. First story :) Rated T...I think.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

" _For all is one in the goddess,"_

….

The sound of crunching boots echoed along the walls of the great temple where a thousand Aeldari have gathered. All of them knew of course of the evil that will soon come thanks to the decadence of their people. The Aeldari Empire, once the beacon of hope and order of the galaxy are now coming to an end. The head Farseer of the Enclave have seen it in his visions. A great powerful cosmic force opening up like a black hole sucking in all light and engulfing endless worlds as it drinks souls like water. He saw great beings of light and power try their best to put down the dark beast and failing epically as they themselves became food for it except for three. One taken as prisoner for the dark beasts amusement in many years to come, another taking refuge on the smokes it belched from itself and one torn into pieces, its soul settling in on fragments. This fate is inevitable and one that the Aeldari in all their might and power cannot change.

Head Farseer Vazanil only looked around at the weathered looks of the other Aeldari around him. Most of them are priests and monks who managed to keep themselves reined in and far from the cult pleasures that his other kin have indulged themselves in. He has shared his vision with them and they have agreed to his plan even though they know that they won't live to see the outcome.

Farseer Vazanil knew it though; he has seen it in the threads of fate; a powerful entity to challenge the Chaos gods leading a cadre of warriors against the Ruinous powers, its power excluding blue aura. It is followed by an image of a statue of a mouthless being in robes raising its hands over a shining crystal which countless beings looked at in fervor and no small amount of reverence. He saw a great golden city, almost having the same rising shape as Aeldari architecture, ships of gold and silver flying overhead majestically. It is a glorious scene of a civilization he never met. He saw battles, golden armored warriors facing off the living undead, Necrons, the Aeldari's oldest arch-enemy, daemons and their ilk, lightly armored aliens with long rifles and strange symbols, the green heavyset Orks, legions of ape-like beings with giant armored ones leading them with skulls as their symbol and insects he has never seen before coming in like sand. Against all of these he saw the golden armored ones faced without flinching, their blades of blue energy coming out of their wrists.

"Head Farseer," the voice of his second-in-command brought Vazanil out of his wandering thoughts as he turned towards the direction of his longtime friend and brother in all but blood looking tired, but dedicated at his side. "The others are ready and the circle of runes is complete. It is time…Vazanil,"

"Of course Cathanir," he nodded to the other Aeldari. "Do forgive this old one for reminiscing his thoughts and gotten himself lost on them,"

The younger Eldar only nodded before going off to join the others on the now fully powered circle of runes lighting up at the middle of the temple. Vazanil only sighed as he see loved ones hugging each other the final time, making small empty promises that they would be together in whatever afterlife they will end up at. They all participated willingly; all to serve the grand scheme that he himself plots for the good of the future generation. He himself has no idea what it will happen to all of them, or even if it will succeed. He himself knows that the images and visions he has seen are not full-proof. The threads of Fate are fickle and they are prone to changing at any notice. There is no choice however if he plan to save his species in the future. To give them a hope and something to cling into in the encroaching darkness brought about by themselves no less.

Already he has received several coded messages from Craftworld Farseers giving notice that they are finally trying to get as far away as they can from the heart of Aeldari civilization away from the encroaching storm with any sane Aeldari that did not follow the madness that is gripping their civilization. With his people trying their best to run away from the storm, Farseer Vazanil knows that it is the proper time for him to also act on his plan to give his visions a chance for reality on the threads of Fate.

He opened his aged eyes as he looked around the now gathered conclave of seers and Aeldari that heed his call. Nearly a thousand of them are trained seers; minds honed for the welfare of the planets that they've heralded from, ten thousand of them though are civilians, simply volunteers for this light of hope that he promised them for the sake of their future. They are patriots, all of them already. There's no greater heart than the heart of a volunteer and each of them have stepped forward in this time of need.

"Brothers, sisters," he spoke out loud, his voice echoing around the white stones despite his thousands of years of age. "At the end of our time, at the edge of our hope, we have no one but each other," he paused even as every eye look at him in attention as he strides forward at the center of the rune circle that they are all inside in. "Our civilization for good or for worse will soon come to an end," he continued on, every inch of his emotion lacing his words. "The stars that we have called our own will soon not belong to us. The Aeldari Empire that we know will meet its downfall. We cannot change that, Fate has decreed it that it will come to pass. No matter what we try, it is too late to save it," he paused watching many of his fellows wearing weary faces as he expected them to be. Despite all his words that brought them altogether here, he's aware that some of them still held on to the hope that their world will retain some sort of salvation. He doesn't want to disappoint them but the bitter truth is miles better than the sweetest lie. "What we can save though is our future," he proclaimed letting hope fill his words. "Even now what is rest of our untainted kin escapes to the stars away from this doom. They would be a nomadic people, never resting always traveling bearing with them the memories of what once was. They would be hunted, they would be alone and they will always be afraid. They will carry the legacy of our race. We cannot help the Empire but we can help them with our sacrifice! So I ask you now brothers and sisters. Will you lay down your lives with me for the future? Will you step forward and give them hope when they have none?!"

"YES!" the roar of the gathered Aeldari roared across the temple as each and every one of them felt the emboldened words of the Head Farseer to their souls.

"Steel yourselves then brothers and sisters for in this darkest hour, we will not give in to the wiles of Chaos and with our last breathe, let the galaxy know that we are not afraid!" he roared, the aged voice sounding like a resplendent battle cry even as he activated the master rune at the center of the temple.

White light immediately engulfed the entire open area and Farseer Vazanil can only close his eyes and heart as he heard his fellow Aeldari scream out in agony and pain as their very essence is ripped out and torn, coagulating to the center where the slowly dissolved body of the Head Farseer stood. Despite his pain and upcoming death, Vazanil only smiled as he used the last of his essence and physical body to fully activate the rune at his feet. Even now he could feel that explosion that the newly born Chaos god caused as She-Who-Thirsts awake and the first of the Eldar gods died under her path. He could feel her gaze pierced on him and the ritual he's making. Despite dying he could only smirk in defiance at the newly born Chaos god as he felt her fear at the realization of what he's making.

"Our will is not so easily broken demon!" he hissed through the warp knowing it could hear him. The firstborn will not fear you one day!" and everything turned to white as the last of his being is absorbed by the portal, his last thoughts that of peace and rest.

….

Tha-thump!

" _Where am I?"_

Tha-thump!

" _Am I still alive?"_

Tha-thump!

" _What is this place?"_

Tha-thump!

" _Who am I?"_

She had no idea who she is or what she is. The last thing her mind remembered was laying down to rest and sleep before waking up here. Now here she is…confused and eager like a little child brought down on a newly found garden. She remembered teaching beings like her; little angels that smile and wave their small hands as she rewarded them with her smiles and hugs. She remembered walking on a stone smooth road of asphalt with many like her but also does not look like her. She remembered the metal things zipping past her, making honking sounds as they followed instructions of three lights. She remembered tall metal rods looming over her left and right like watchers, their glass covered sides showing the light of the sun at the day and the silvery glow of the moon and stars at night. But what is she really? And what are those things she knows in her memories?

Her gaze turned left and right even as her mind for the first time awakened. Confusion ripped her entire being as she surveyed the place around her. Broken pillars and beautiful marble busts of white now entangled by vines, nature slowly claiming it back for itself. Once it might have been beautiful at the height of its architecture, but now it is slowly falling into ruin. It looks like an opened plaza with bright light filling it from a broken circle opening window from above. This is not the place she remembers when she closed her eyes before.

She tried to move and frowned as the realization finally sets in that she has no body of her own. In fact now that she noticed it, her view can only rotate into a hundred and eighty degrees left and right. Only her senses can feel the things around her and by instinct her mind for some reason deciphered them for her making her immediately know their shapes, their color and what they look like wholesale. Still that doesn't change the fact that she can't move. Frowning she looked around hoping for something, not knowing even what she is looking. Everything so far is just rock and plants; nothing else is around her, nothing to oh…be that what she thinks it is?

Her inquisitive mind focused on the skeleton barely covered anymore by the decomposing once pristine robes it wore. So far the vague images and memories in her head relates to her thoughts that the skeleton can be compared a little similar to what she was once before…interesting. But what good is a skeleton to her? She's still trapped here and it's not like the skeleton is moving and alive for her to take over.

For some reason she doesn't like it as her current thoughts frowned, she doesn't like things to be dead, she wants them alive. She wanted this skeleton to be alive, vibrant and active like the plants around her, like the people in her memories. She wants it alive and walking with her as it, able to go where she wish to go without thought and without worry. She wanted to be it, able to see the world with eyes again, not…this.

Her frustrations mounted and she gives off an equivalent of an irritating huff like a petulant child not getting what it wants. Unbeknownst to her, her thoughts give birth to psychic might bending on her will and the unhappy being can only gawk in awe as different particles and minerals from the ground gather around the skeleton lifted up by her psychic might. She knows she's the one who's making it, but how, she has no idea. She could feel it, the power leaving her as it reconstructed the being that was and taking the information from the great treasure troves of memories that just unbidden supplied themselves into service to adjust to the needs of her will…..interesting.

As it is, she only watches in wonder as the new body of the dead skeleton are formed inch by inch, its template coming from her memories and its previous form. Organs formed slowly followed by being encased with muscle, flesh and fat as it took the desired form that her mind and powers granted it. She has no idea how long she has been there focusing on the slowly being formed body. Her desire to create it is something new to her; it is as if creation is like a drug to her, an art that she wants to perfect and perform. She simply doesn't want it, she needed it.

At first she has simply wanted to create a body out of curiosity and for her to take over so that she can feel a little sense of normality. Now she doesn't want to simply create a body. Her newly found desire to create has awoken something in her, a desire to make life, to create and design them, to lead them and guide them. She wants someone to teach and for someone to acknowledge and love her in return. This is foreign feelings and she has no idea why she's thinking this way but she likes it.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months as the two suns and three moons of the planet she's in rotated above her. But for the being on the temple, nothing mattered to her but her craft. Every inch of the body she's making is taken with great care, the power, architecture, and the talent of thousands of beings that made an Empire that lasted for millennia's pulled into one helping her subconsciously as she tries to make her dream come true. No move of her psychic might is wasted. Every splicing, every turn and contour is a work of art…..and finally it was done.

Powerful being she may be but she can also feel exhaustion. Still she would be lying if she says that she isn't proud. No sign of the dead rotting bone that she used as basis for her making and inspiration. What now floats in front of her is a beautiful being that later would be heralded as an Anathema to the Chaos gods of the warp.

The new body in front of her is extremely beautiful even in Eldar standards. It is voluptuous and tall giving off an aura of both intimidating and lovely at the same time. Long pinkish red hair fell down its back with golden braids. Angled features designed her face giving it an elvin appearance with catlike features. Her ears of course are angled and pointy, but not at the length of an Eldar, rather it is like those Elves in Tolkien's mythology. Wispy white robes cover her body of course, showing off much but hiding also a little. Golden belts, armbands and high heels surround her and even a small golden four winged design is at her back. All in all the female body in front of her does not disappoint.

If she had features, she would have smiled as she felt majority of her consciousness and power being slowly transfer themselves to the floating body in front of her. Already in her premonition she knows that this is the first steps of her life and destiny to change not only this world but the galaxy as a whole.

Golden eyes opened, brown irises taking in. She breathed in, the beautiful pinkish lips curving into a smile as her receptors for feeling once more is registered by her senses. She laughed, her tinkling voice echoing along the empty marble halls as she let herself down feeling the familiar touch of gravity on the ground. She breathed in, the clean air of the former temple filling her and adding even more to her joy. She laughed again as she danced around the empty halls her golden heels not lessening the grace and beauty of her actions, in fact it even enhances it. Any sane individual who would have seen this marvelous performance would have been struck dumb.

Everywhere she went, beauty and light followed, her powers reacting well with her joy as she moved. She loved every second of her living and this new body. She loved the touch of the air, the heat of the sun, the eternal music of the planet she's on and the sensation of being alive kissing her brow. This is life at its finest. Free, beautiful and unrestrained.

It took a while for her joy to be abated as she finally manages to pull her senses together. Going back to the open plaza where the conduit of her consciousness is centered. She allowed herself a small frown as she stared at the giant blue crystal steaming like ice pulled out of a refrigerator in front of her. There it is floating in mid-air at the middle of the temple without a care in the world. She stepped towards it cautiously, not knowing herself (and the thousands of embedded memories) as to what it is. One slender hand went up warily towards its surface, gently touching it, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. She's not exactly sure what she expected, maybe a spark of electricity, a burst of pain or fire, or even something. All she felt though is nothing but cold, intense cold like that of solid ice. Her palm slowly swipe on its surface marveling at its smoothness. It is obviously not natural if its edges are any indication. This is made by someone, but by whom and for what? This is not simply a product of nature and it is made for a reason. She could feel the power within….her power acting like an anchor of her massive consciousness. Already her senses are pulling her to try and go back inside where the rest of her sentience are.

Deep inside, she knows that if this massive crystal ever breaks, her life also would come to an end. Self-preservation kicked in and by instinct her hand immediately touched the ground, psychic power escalates all around the temple gathering lighting and thunderstorms towards it. The ground churned itself up like water as it bubbled, its matter no match with her psyshcic will. Softer and softer it grows as her thoughts and will peel layer and layer of earth turning it to mush, going deep into the planet's core.

Rain started to fall down and the sunny weather turned to a thunderstorm as she remain kneeled there drenched with the tears of the sky. Currently it's not easy despite her strength. Precise and accurate she may be; much of her energy beforehand is spent on trying to create this body she's wearing. Every last bit of energy she's pouring in must be taken into account and nothing should be wasted.

For her it may have felt like an hour but actually it's less than twenty minutes before her subconscious finally managed to reach the acceptable depth it wanted. Smiling, her eyes opened once more as she stood up and touched the surface of the floating blue crystal as large as her. She must hide it if she wanted to protect it. Already the threads of Fate are giving her an oversight of the upcoming danger that she will face in the future. Even if this body dies naturally or not and her main conduit remains safe, her being and consciousness would be secure and she can be reborn. Only with the destruction of this crystal will she pass away.

One flick of her finger and the large crystal immediately plunged down on the now excavated earth straight down to the passageway she built with her mind and power. Very little resistance it met as it achieved incredible depths in the span of seconds. She herself guided it with her mind as it went down to its new home and destination forever more. Feeling it finally touching the end of the tunnel she built, she allowed herself a small smile. Now it is safe deep inside the planet's core.

Touching the ground once more, she gently urged the mushified particles to solidify once more back to their usual state, hiding the crystal from prying eyes forevermore. As she finished the final preparation, she stood up, allowing herself a satisfied smile as she looked at the ground where she made the large passageway beforehand. No evidence of it remained of being disturbed other than the psychic residue that she used to dig it in the first place. Here on this very spot later would her followers erect the temple in her honor for feeling that same residue that she used today.

As it is with the center of her being so close to the planet core, she could feel the entirety of the planet itself. Every rock, tree, blade of grass on the surface, not to mention the alive organisms also scurrying on its surface, the waters it contain and many more on this garden world. This is a planet of beginning, a new start purposely made for her to shape as she wills. With it her entire being smiled.

Now she knows her purpose in life. Her memories and the wisdom and knowledge of those that created her are at her disposal to create something anew. She is no longer that person who slept on their bed and woke up today and she's also not the people that give creativity and knowledge to the majority of her consciousness. She is something new. She is a being of creation and by all that is good she would do her best to fulfill that duty set for her. She would create, grow and be perfect as expected from her. With the treasure trove of knowledge at the back of her mind, she knows that this world is not the only world out there. She knows that there is a massive galaxy that waits outside these skies. She knows that that galaxy is anything but friendly. She knows that there are other beings out there that are as ruthless and powerful. She would need her creation to be ready. She must get them ready. It is her duty if she plans to make into reality the reason as to why she's created. But first of all, she needs a name.

Walking to one of the white marble benches, one wave of her hand immediately clears the dust and the leaves that have settled there as she sat, one elegant hand making as a support to her face as she leaned thoughtfully looking at one of the empty white walls. If one would look closer though, you could see that her golden eyes are unfocused and is looking instead in the threads of the future which seemed to go bleaker the more she focuses on it. She saw Chaos and Order in eternal war plunging the galaxy in total chaos as war, death and destruction reigned supreme. She saw someone like her, an anathema of Chaos stuck in eternal agony on a golden chair, unable to move as he tried his best to provide a ray of hope to his own species. She saw an elfin being used as a lab experiment, crying for rescue that never came as she remains trapped on that hellscape of sickness and despair. She saw reason being thrown out of the window as mortals fought for the barest scraps and for the dumbest of reasons.

Letting off a sigh, she put one hand in her temple wanting to cry unto what is to come. Despite her power, she knows that only one of her can do nothing against what she has seen. At best she can change very little if she ventured out there and try to change something. In fact a large part of her knows that even trying would not impact the galaxy as a whole to change the events. What she needs is allies, or better yet…followers.

She's reluctant on doing it though. Her purpose is creation, but would she be willing to let her created experience the horrors of the galaxy? This is the only way she can see right now. Alone she can't do it. But with people loyal to her, she could make that change greater. But first she had to make sure that her people are strong, stronger and more powerful than the horrors that they would face. They would be stronger, faster, purity of being and purity of form. They would bring light to the galaxy and hope to the hopeless. Darkness will flee at their coming and they would be her warriors and her bearers against the coming darkness.

Already from the back of her head, her will and resolves are slowly bringing memories to bear that would suit her needs. Gene and body modifications to enhance a being, how to manipulate the mind to one's will, loyalty practices and religious ways to keep whatever people that she wanted to create in her sway. With it came thoughts of powerful weapons, ideas of machinery of peace and war, great ships to traverse the void of space and a billion more ideas that came from the forerunners before her that made her fort for this task. Great cities made by her creation, bastions of hope in this galaxy where warfare would be the constant. Golden armadas of light traversing the stars and laying waste to those who dare oppress the weak. Yes, it is all possible and she laughed aloud as she realized that everything that is needed for her to make her desires and thoughts come true is simply sitting at the back of her mind waiting to be unlocked by the demand of her will. Billions of innovations kept on guard and key until they are needed. She had the tools; now all that she needed entirely is the raw materials to make what would later impact the galaxy in a tremendous scale. In fact her thoughts this day would cause more than one Chaos god enough grief to focus on her created instead of the Imperium of Man.

Standing up, she immediately glided towards the edge of one of the temple's still remaining balcony overlooking a large forest that stretch on for miles on the horizon. From her height she could see a couple of lakes and dozens of small gullies and streams connected to a river that stretched towards an ocean at the far distance. Present also are mountain ranges from afar like giant sentinels, their white cone peaks giving evidence to them filled with snow. Atop, the two suns of blue and yellow shines from above the sky giving a peaceful look over this garden world. Around her, the sounds of the native animals that called this world home could be heard.

She only laughed as she felt each and every one of them. Apparently putting her entire being on the core connected her entire being to this planet making her feel every single living being here to the most minute of them. It feels as if she is the very planet itself. Glad and happy thanks to the finding of her purpose, she let her entire mind stretch out everywhere to search for something that will fit her requirements for the dream that she aimed to turn into reality.

Of course as per her nature of being an entity of creation and being an anathema to Chaos, her preferences mostly fell under the two categories of purity of form, and purity of being. The modifications that her memories provide would be able to transform the required needed sentient form to the shape that she would require. What she need to find though is for something that would fit her requirements. Of course a being as she is prefer the being that suits her needs that needed the least tampering. Change is good after all, but too much change would render her created as puppets not beings anymore of sentience. She might have her dreams and plans for her creation, but she doesn't want to bereft her creation their freedom of choice and decisions simply to achieve her desires.

Most leaders might have ignored the smaller pictures in favor of the big picture but not her. This thinking does not belong to the thousands of memories that provided for her the foundation of the people that would later be a powerful faction in the stars but from her former one of being a teacher. Sure the bigger picture matters in the long run especially if you're making a plan for the future and the sake of the greater good overlarge but one must tend to remember the little picture that most of the times gets trampled for the sake of the greater good. It is after all the little pictures that make up the big picture and if too many of them gets torn away, there would be no need for a bigger picture.

She has no idea how long she has been standing there as she picked up the species that would be her created and fitting to the factors that she provided, but of course success always goes to those who are determined. She smiled as she pinpointed two that she managed to pick before jumping off the ledge and gracefully landing on the uneven ground in her golden heels. It is time for this planet to finally meet the Lady of Creation.

…

Author's Note:

This is my first story, so hooray! I never played Warhammer but I've read the lore. Hopefully it would be more than enough to get me through this. I love the Emperor of Mankind and I hate the morons that is the Inquisition.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

" _The goddess watches over us,"_

…

"For the goddess!" Sola roared as he plunged the golden war glaive deep into the head of a Skork, the metal with an overlay of a power field cutting through flesh and bone like paper making the large reptile thrash with abandon. If he had a mouth and teeth would have been gritting it as the large head he is standing tried to throw him off into open air.

"Rina, spear!" he cried out to his partner who immediately threw a long pike as long as they are to him. With a skill that came only from thousands of repetitions, Sola caught the massive weapon with one hand with all his might plunged it with all his strength deep into the already gushing wound of the Skork. The severely wounded animal immediately made an ear splitting screech that would have made anyone with an ear five kilometers away to burst out in pain as it struggled on its death throes.

Sola however isn't yet finished, yelling with his entire strength he plunged the spear deeper into the skull of the Skork to the point where it came out the roof of its mouth as it made one more screech before falling silent as it fell to the ground with a large thud sending plumes of dust everywhere as its massive body finally failed it.

Huffing, Sola struggled to stand up as he looked at his kill. The massive snake-like creature with a dozen legs on each of his side is obviously finished, especially with the golden spear lodged on its head where blood pooled like a small lake. Every inch of his body hurt but he couldn't even be happier in his entire life. Only the bravest or the most foolhardy of the Khalai dare hunt a Skork. The massive fifteen meter monsters are apex predators on this planet and something that the hunter must be wary of when hunting. More than one settlement of Khalai is made food for these monsters before the Enlightenment.

"Sola! Sola!" the familiar sound of his heart interest and hunting partner made his face beam as he turned towards her direction. There she is dressed in hunting garbs like he is with skin tight leather armor though hers ended only to her upper things showing long beautiful pale legs of the lightest blue being hidden by a long violet loincloth.

He only smirked victoriously as she stopped in front of him looking in awe at the dead Skork lying there in front of him, mouth gaping wide with the golden spear stuck on the roof of its head. "I don't believe it; you've really killed it,"

"Duh, what did you expect from the son of a Hierarch?"

"I don't know, being eaten alive I guess," shrugged the female Khalai before once more approaching the dead beast and nudging it with her foot. "Your father's either gonna flip or be overjoyed at you after this kill,"

"I'm gonna take him being proud," answered Solas knowing very well that shit storm that is coming from his father the moment he returned to the palace. His father is well known for being level-headed but he is obviously stressed. Being the first ever Hierarch of the Khalai demands a lot out of him and he knows that his father can't afford distractions as much as possible, especially with the upcoming celebration that all of the Khalai looked forward at, including him.

Ironically this is also the main reason why Solas chose to go on this hunt. Young Khalai males normally took the Hunt as a coming of age practice even from the Eon of Darkness when their race started spawning. Protoss males would go out from the safety of their tribes' comfort and head to the unknown to hunt any wild beast that can provide a challenge. They must be able to kill the beast and bring back its hide, skin and head as trophies, the bigger the kill, the more the honor. Unfortunately a Protoss must be on the required proper age before they even undertake the Hunt. Solas have completely disregarded this part and went to have his Hunt anyways. This is the only time that their deity would arrive in the next five cycles and for any Protoss assigned to have a Hunt on this cycle is considered the greatest of honors.

"You think we're going to see her up close this time?" asked his friend crouching at his side handing him one of their traditional skinning knives that Solas took as he began hacking the head of the dead Skork. Skorks are like snakes but only with four legs able to walk and swim at the same time. It can also be able to traverse steep cliff sides making it one of the most dangerous animals in their planet and one of the greatest to be the target of the Hunt for a Protoss.

"I bet I will Salliah," he answered, barely managing to hide the excitement in his tone. With a kill like this, I would be able to see her up close and if luck holds, I would receive her blessing," Like all Protoss, Sola revered the Lady of Creation to the point of fanaticism. Protoss of the First Houses still kept relics of the things that the Lady has given them during the First Unification, for them it is the highest of honors to receive something from their revered deity. In fact, even Sola's house has one of these holy artifacts, a golden sash that his father told him the goddess has entrusted to them. It is placed in the most holy of places at their House Temple forever guarded by pairs of Prophets. Only once every ten cycles does their family allows them entrance to see the sash. In fact Solas saw the golden sash of the goddess ten times in his entire life and he has prostrated himself every time.

"You almost done Solas?" asked the female Protoss as he just finished hewing the large head of the Skork and managed to nail the pins on its sides for the ropes that will haul it. Blood and bits of Skork meat cling to him in droves, not to mention the droves of insects; signs enough of a hunter in a successful Hunt.

"Now I am," if he had a mouth, he would have smirked at his friend as he simply gave her an eye smile before the two of them started dragging his prey back at the direction of his home.

…

Aiur, the golden city, the city of a billion souls , the beacon of the stars. It is the home-world of the Protoss civilization and the place where before during the Eon of Strife, the ten Houses that now form the Enclave fought one another for the most miniscule of reasons. Later this city would be a beacon of hope to many things and a shining star that could rival even the Light of the Emperor of Mankind.

Destrius Austras, Hierarch of the Protoss as his usual habit stared at the topmost spire of the Golden Pyramid of Aiur at this beautiful city of his people. It has been his habit ever since he was elected Hierarch a hundred years ago during the First Unification.

How far his people have come since their emergence from the dark; he knows of course that his race is strong, humanoid in form, their bodies are built specifically to fight with elegance and grace. Long limbs and flexible with reinforced carbon fiber bones, their claws at their hands can tear through flesh, skin and hide with ease. Even their nourishment method is designed to adapt at the harshest of environments. Protoss don't need to eat to survive, all they needed is the light like plants, it sustains a Protoss far better than any food might for a human body. Their secrement is also the same way, when a Protoss sweats, the energy they have is returned to its environment keeping their world clean and natural. Protoss have no mouths due to this fact or any other orifices in any way other than their glowing eyes of blue. They are built for fighting and surviving.

Unfortunately being built for fighting is not exactly a good thing if you have no one to fight. His ancestors, great leaders on their own right tried to curb this function by basing their entire ethics and tradition into a life of honor, establishing the Hunt in the first place for young Protoss to curb their lust for a fight. It didn't work out so well in the long run. Thanks to their desire to state their honor, tribes fought against tribes for little slights. They misunderstood the meaning of what their first ancestors passed down from generation to generation creating the Eon of Strife where a thousand tribes scattered throughout the planet massacred each other drowning the land with their own blood. Destrius himself have witnessed that barbarism that wittled down their people from a thousand tribes to ten measly few left almost leading them to extinction. From this darkness came the Lady of Creation, their beloved diety and goddess.

He still remembered that day, the day when the Lady of Creation appeared. He mentally sighed as memories brought him back to the past. Blood, gore, sweat, bodies littered the ground as the hundreds of struggling bodies did their best to tear each other apart. He saw himself hacking non-stop at the bare chest of another Protoss with the haft of his makeshift axe blood is everywhere and the sound is deafening as war cries mixed with the wailing and he crying of the wounded and the dying. It is like a symphony of the damned surrounding them all, encasing them in the throes of war.

And that is where they saw her, shining with great light at the topmost hill of what would soon later come to be the Golden Pyramid of Aiur. At her side are the Celestials, beings of light and power with wings of light energy. It is at that place that the division of the Protoss came to an end and the Eon of Strife as terrible as it is became the stepping stone for their rise as a race. At that very place, the Lady of Creation opened their minds taking advantage of the Protoss' way of talking to one another using psionic waves to unite them under the Khala. In their division, she united them, their every emotion, their every thought joined as one under the light of the Khala, a psionic unity using the goddess as their basis and anchor to their souls. Now every Protoss are bound not only by their traditions but also their unity by sharing their minds with one another. Where before the Protoss care only about honor, now they care about their unity. No Protoss nowadays think only for himself, but for his entire race as whole.

Now this is the result of the actions of their goddess. A planet united under one reason, their respect and their love for their deity. She has taught them much over the past century, uplifting the Protoss from the barbaric tribes they are to a great civilization preparing themselves to rise to the stars. Where once they used sticks, stones and the occasional crude metal to craft items and weapons; now they use energy tools powered by the Khaydarin Crystals that their deity gave to them at the First Unification.

From his vantage point he could see the entirety of the city of Aiur, the heart of Protoss civilization and every Protoss' pride and joy. It is here that the temple of Creation stands and every Protoss scattered in different cities of the planet made a point to pilgrimage at least five times a single cycle. Mountains covered the northern and eastern edges of the large plain where Aiur stood like sentinels with narrow passageways that can easily be defended. The southern and eastern parts of the city on the other hand have no natural barrier other than the Lake of Birth where the gestation of many infant Protoss is made.

Protoss after all reproduce very different from other species. Unlike mammals, Protoss do not mate. Instead, partners give samples of their blood to Protoss gene masters who received the blessing of gene editing from the goddess herself. These specially learned Protoss would then remove whatever impurities they would find from the donated genes before placing them on one of the birth pods floating in the Lake of Birth where the natural waters heated from the core gives the start up energy for the life inside the pod. The young Protoss would then grow with millions of its siblings inside different pods better and stronger than the previous generation ever will be. It is a far cry of the ancient Protoss whose children would be at risk of dying from predators of the deep when birth pods are set to sail. Now young Protoss are not in danger of dying while they are helpless as ancient guardians that not even the Protoss know guard the deep waters of the Lake of Birth. It is another thing that is a blessing from their goddess.

All in all it is a good thing, he thought to himself as he returned his gaze to the rising spires of Aiur surrounding the golden pyramid. Each of these spires houses thousands of Protoss, plying their craft. With no need for food, and no reason to butcher one another with the creation of the Khala uniting them all, majority of Protoss now pursue whatever it is that interests them. Be it the nature of art, wisdom, knowledge, history, animals or even pondering the simplest of questions like "why a stone does does not move?" In the golden pyramid is found the largest collection of tomes by the millions fanatically protected by the present Celestials, beings of light and their goddess' personal guardians. Dozens of them lived in the Library of Tomes being its librarians, teachers and guardians of sacred knowledge. Every day thousands of Protoss would enter its humongous halls to seek knowledge and wisdom from the tomes inside the library or simply as a pilgrimage to learn something from the guardians of their deity.

Not that Protoss are pacifists, far from it in fact. Despite their unity now, and their lack of desire to hurt something unless it proves itself a threat to the Unity as a whole, the Protoss are still warriors to the core. Large part of its citizens still visits the millions of training grounds dotting in empty spaces all over Aiur to hone their skills of being a warrior. Aiur may be at peace with its defenses that the goddess' personally "suggested" which the Protoss did not question to build; but the outlying cities in different continents are not yet so lucky with the odd one or two animal trying it's luck on them. Beyond the golden walls of Aiur still lived the wild animals' native to the planet, great beasts with armor of chitin and carapace that devoured anything and anyone that enter their domains. These so-called badlands are the Plague Lands, places where vegetation and nature ruled free and only those who participated on the Hunt are allowed to enter these dangerous territories past the walls to bring back a prize. Where once these creatures pose a threat to the Protoss, now the hunters became the hunted as Protoss utilized technology taught to them by their deity rendering the natural weapons that the animals relied on so much useless. Now these creatures stayed away from any settlement and only the most hungry or the foolhardy dared to test the valor of their former prey. Having them around is also not so bad. Large numbers of them often roam past their forests giving the warriors enough practice to use their skills in actual combat instead of the training grounds. Real life and death battle after all is completely different from training.

Still, his race as a whole is as diverse as any civilization can be. Divided into three caste systems, the Protoss boasted their society to be more efficient than anything the universe will ever produce. As complicated and diverse their lifestyle is, the way of life for them is actually quite simple. The Artisan Caste represents the civilians, though seventy percent of them can be called into active service when the occasion ever calls for it. The Artisans are the largest in the Caste system. They are your usual day to day Protoss honing their crafts in their chosen fields. They are the ones in charge of research and development, dedicating their lives to the ever improvement of their race as a whole. It is them who made Aiur to what it is today and many takes pride from their work, especially those who belonged to the craft of engineering. Basically it is the Artisans who keeps the cog of the Protoss community turning.

Second and probably the ones who would be well-known on the galaxy later is the Templar Caste. The Templars are the armed body of the Protoss. Unlike the Artisans, those of the Templar Caste spent their days learning only one doctrine, war. Divided into three classes, the Templar Caste serves as the blades of the Protoss people against their enemies.

Largest of the Templar Caste classes are the Templars. With the doctrine of the Protoss that ranged fighting is cowardice at its heart, the Templars are comprised mostly of Zealots; warriors that wielded energy blades powered by their own psychic energy drawn from the power of the Khydarin crystals. It can take any form depending on the weapons wielded by its owner. In the Templars are also placed the pilots, and many other Great War machines at service on the Caste like the powerful Immortals, four legged walkers with twin cannons driven by the soul of a fallen Protoss and the Colossi, powerful six legged golden machines designed like an insect that can challenge a titan in terms of firepower alone.

Next and albeit a small group compared to the Templars are the High Templars. Leaders and wielders of the power of the Khydarin Crystal, this specially trained Protoss are powerful Psykers also. Being able to harness the entirety of their psychic strength, they are able to manipulate the four elements into their will though able to conjure lightning on their foes is their most favorite tactic. The High Templars are the most respected in the Protoss warrior society and having one of the greatest of responsibilities. In time of direst need, a High Templar can be one with his Psychic energy and be able to transform himself to a being of immense power at the price of his life.

Lastly of the Warrior Caste Class is the Dark Templar. Not much is known of this Protoss even among their society. Wanderers, information gatherers, spies, outcasts, these solitary beings who chose this path are very different from the rest of the Khalai. They did not ornament themselves and they do not carry with them a Khydarin crystal other than the ones that powered their glaives. It is widely known though that when a Dark Templar comes bearing news; it is in your good opinion to listen. Dark Templar barely does anything without reason and they spent most of their times outside the walls in the Plague Lands.

The last Caste is the Hierarchs. These are the highest echelons of Protoss society. Divided into two, the Hierarch Caste rules over the entirety of all the Protoss and is responsible for their entire species' well-being. The first group is the Council led by the Hierarch. This group is the one in charge of the day to day demands of the entire race and keeps the society running smoothly. In times of peace, the Council which is comprised of the Elders from the different Houses of the Protoss handles the requests and the upkeep of their people. In times of War however, the Hierarch, chosen leader by their goddess herself is the one in charge and his power supersedes everyone else when it comes on making decisions. There is only one Hierarch that had been elected ever since the uplifting of their race.

The second part of the Hierarch Caste is the Priests. This is perhaps the most influential of all the Castes and only the noblest and the most devoted of their kind are given the honor to enter this part of the Hierarch Caste. Sure the Protoss revered their goddess greatly and with no doubt, but being a Priest takes that Faith an extra mile more that bordered on fanaticism. To be a Priest means being better than anyone else in a lot of fields; priests are not just preachers teaching the "Tenants of Faith," a set of rules and values that their goddess imparted to their ancestors when she first revealed herself to them. It is also the Protoss' holy book. The Priests' are the greatest warriors in Protoss society but also teachers, leaders, helpers and models for the other Protoss to follow. Millions apply to a slot on being a priest every time there's a vacancy but only one would be chosen and even sometimes, no one in the case of no one passing the Trials that tests ones faith, strength of body, character and spirit.

Put everything together all of this and you have the Protoss' society at the crisp of its infancy during the Years of Unification that would later spread to at least a thousand worlds under their influence.

"Hierarch," the voice of his aide brought Destrius' thoughts back to the present as he turned to one of the Centurions, his honor guard assigned to him enter his door with a small incline of his head in respect. Unlike a regular member of the Warrior Caste, a Centurion is garbed more heavily in terms of their golden armor making them harder to kill even if their energy shield generator fails.

"Pardon my intrusion Hierarch, but we have found your son as you have ordered," said the heavily armored Protoss, his blue eyes meeting the Hierarchs.

"Good," nodded Destrius turning his gaze back to the expecting city whose residents are buzzing around like bees in beehive. This is after all the celebration that all Protoss looked forward to and everyone is coming out in their best attires and crafts to honor their goddess….except his son for some reason that went galvanizing off to who-knows-where. "Bring him to me,"

"Yes my lord," the Centurion saluted once more before walking out with barely a sound made despite his heavy bulk.

Sure that he is no alone once more, Destrius can't help but let off a tired sigh. He seriously doesn't know what to do with his son. Solas is a good kid but too strong willed for his own good. He has the habit to galvanize off past the Protoss norm of ways and Destrius is more than enough aware that he isn't exactly displaying to be the ideal father for that boy. His duty as Hierarch is demanding, especially with their race slowly achieving its desired self-identity. Purity of Form, the goddess called it. His race is that and more. He also knows that their destiny isn't simply on this planet alone. The entirety of the Protoss with the teachings imparted to them by the goddess knows that there are a lot of worlds other than this one and it is his race's destiny to share the light they have with everyone else. This is why the reappearance of the goddess to their city is such a big event. He knows that today is the day that their goddess would finally allow them to take their first steps to the stars where their fate awaits.

"Father," the familiar psychic presence of his son registered on his brain and the Hierarch turned to greet his only child when his eyes lay on the dead head of a Skork being carried out by an even bloodier looking Protoss who is unable to hide his nervousness from the psychic senses of his father. Destrius sighed for the second time of the day. He isn't sure if he wanted to throw his son off the edge of the balcony or congratulate him for attaining such a worthy price on his early Hunt.

…

She smiled as she looked at the bustling golden city awaiting her arrival. It has been a hundred Cycles on this planet, each cycle equivalent to five years in regular Earth time. A hundred cycles ever since she showed herself to the Protoss and made them who they are today. They are not close to Purity of Form as she desired at first when she scoured this land for anything worthy of her time and thought. They are a barbaric people intent on tearing each other apart until she intervened, giving them the power of the Khydarin Crystals and pulling their psychic thoughts together into her giving them a unity with each other that no other sentient beings can replicate. The souls of their fallen also stayed with her, their consciousness bonded together by the crystal that is her at the middle of their planet. And their prayers and faith gives her strength beyond measure as she deemed it to be for the sake of the galaxy as a whole.'

This might look like manipulation but this is in fact protection for them as it is a facet of strength for her. Chaos is attracted to psykers and believe it or not, the entirety of the Protoss are psykers. The Khydarin crystal that is a part of her silence the warp, the bigger it is, the larger the field making this planet invisible to the eyes of Chaos. Being bounded to her, their souls are safe from being food for the Chaos gods and their unity combined with their faith thanks to the Khala is their unbreakable shield against its influence. As long as their thinking remains like that, no whisper of Chaos can enter their heads.

" _It is time,"_ she mentally sent a command at the hundred beings accompanying her and a hundred heads bowed as one as she pulled her psychic strength together pulling them all into a teleportation crystal with a flash and guiding them straight to the point at the middle of the plaza that the Porotoss readied for her arrival specifically.

A tidal wave of sound immediately greeted her ears like a tidal wave and despite herself, the Lady of Creation has to erect a psychic shield to tone down the noise as the Priests try to calm the crowd who immediately fell flat on their faces at the appearance of their goddess with her custodians, Celestials who now flew into open air at her sides.

Protoss maybe her Created and her arm that will bring her light to a galaxy of darkness, but the Celestials will be her angels. They are wandering beings of energy and thought that came from a long passed away species who experimented on transforming their bodies to pure energy at Aiur. Their success however is not the dream they imagined. As they became one with everything they become purposeless, unable to live, unable to comprehend their existence, forever floating into the empty eddies of time without knowing what to do. She found them large numbers of them by accident in her search of the desire to create.

She had pitied them, their existence an everlasting curse based on ignorance. Thus she remade them anew, delaying herself many years as she created new bodies for them, armor and clothes to take the shape of their humanoid energies for them to manifest once more at the physical plane. She gave them purpose once more and bound them to her thanks to their new bodies. She shared to them her dream of driving away the coming darkness and they answered her call. They became her Celestials, her guardian angels and her archangels, forever sworn to protect her main avatar in the physical realm. With their energies, they lifted up a great island up to the sky and built the city Silverhallow there. It is the home of the Celestials and also a place for her avatar to rest fully and call home.

"My children," she said simply to the gathered still bowed crowd who heard her words as they are projected into each and every one of their minds. "Please rise," she commanded.

The sound of shuffling feet is then heard by the millions as the attending Protoss followed. She simply waited for each and every one of them to finish pulling himself or herself up as every eye available is trained on her.

"My children," she began once more. "You have come far and I can't be more proud than I am today seeing all of you gathered here today exactly as I envisioned you to be. You are now more than I ever expected you my children, I still remember the barbaric tribes slaughtering one another at the outskirts of this land, not caring if their blades spill the blood of the innocent. You are not the people any longer. It is right only to use your skills against those who threaten you, but a blade to kills is not what you are, you are the blades that will protect. You are a people united and such strength you have will be to protect those who trust in you. For the future we must fight and live on, not to destroy what we hate, but to protect what we love," she took a sigh once more letting everyone attending her sorrow, her pride and her joy of the momentous future that will make the Protoss shine one the stars.

"You have all studied my teachings and such as those that I impart to you, I did to prepare you for what is to come. All of you are aware that there are other worlds out there in the stars. Some of them are peaceful, some of them are not. Many trials will you my children face as you take this first step outside your world, I have prepared you all as best as I can with wisdom and knowledge that you would need. It is up to you though to grasp that destiny with your own hands. Do not fret, I will guide all the way through and be with you. You will face monsters, zealots, unreasoned bastards that will test your very soul and faith. I have prepared you by teaching you how to make weapons to bring them down, but no weapon can challenge the greatest one you have, your Unity. As long as you are united, nothing can be too impossible. You will face darkness and its manifestations, you will be the light against it, a sword that will shine on the galaxy and pierce the darkness on its heart. You will be my warriors, my custodians, my ever living gems that will shine on the darkness. This responsibility I give to you, do you accept it?"

The last sentence may be asked simply by her but for the attending Protoss, it might as well have been a shout, a challenge to all of them. Silence followed. For a moment no one made a sound other than the flapping energy wings of the Celestials….until the sound of a glaive turning on sounded at the front beside the Hierarch from a young Protoss who raised said glaive into the air.

"My life for Aiur! For the goddess!" he roared with all his being sparking a fire on the oil that is the assembled Protoss who then roared in follow-up, fists, glaives, spears and many others raised as they accepted their mission in life.

"For Aiur! For the goddess!"

For the Lady of Creation, she only smiled as she stepped down from her raised dais letting her created meet her personally. Mind you, that Protoss who started that shout really has a future ahead of him.

…...

Author's Note:

Sorry for the late upload readers. I'm busy with school. Thanks for the awesome reviews by the way. I accept critics and suggestions. Please don't flame. Just tell me what's wrong instead of being angry and pissed off. I am open to ideas for this story.

By the way, is it really okay to add the Protoss in this story?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 _"We are the chosen of the goddes, beloved of the sky and heirs to the galaxy. Our armies are the finest in creation; swift where our foes are lumbering, cultured where they are barbaric. Give no thought to failure, or defeat – we are the Children of Creation and we shall prevail."_

 _-High Elves of Ulthuan_

…

"Work! Work harder you fools!" the usual skittering rat-like sound of their overlords sent chills on Enelliery to the core as she strikes the stubborn stone harder causing some of them to fall thanks to the small crack she made. She struggled as she try once more to lift the heavy pickaxe in front of her, her thin limbs barely able to lift the heavy wooden object from where it has landed before. Enellirey has always been lithe despite the taller frames of her people. Add the fact that she is malnourished from lack of food and being beaten every day ever since she is strong enough to walk, what you get is a malnourished girl barely having the strength to continue on living, much less working.

Fear of that whip and fear of her captors though drives Enellirey on managing to life the heavy pickaxe once more as she lifted it high up over her head and bring it down over the cluster of rocks breaking a few of them even more. However that seems to be the final straw however for the old pickaxe she is using. Enellirey can only stare in horror at the pickaxe now broken in two pieces. Fear gripped her heart as the realization sets inside her head that she had committed one of the gravest offenses that her rat masters ordained, the breaking of tools.

"Whattt isss thisss I seeee?" the familiar squeaking sound of speech one of the Overseers nearly sent the young being jumping three feet in the air as she backpedaled as far away as possible from the Overseer that looked at her and then at the broken tool she had been using now lying in a useless heap. "Ahhhh….slavviieeess breaaakinnng masteeerss tooolsss again I seeee. Freeesssh meaaatttt for dinnerr tonight," if rats could chuckle this one just did as it licked its lips eyeing her.

"No please, don't. I didn't mean it. It just broke on its own, please don't, pleeaaasseeee!" Enellirey's screams echoed all over the mine she has been using as the rat-man grabbed her. Enellirey tried to back away as fast as her malnourished form could do but the young female is hungry, sick and weak whereas the giant rat is healthy and fully armored with techno junk plastered over each other. It doesn't help that the nutrition tubes connected to some kind of backpack at its back kept on providing it with some kind of green liquid that converted the Rat-Man's fat into muscle. The claws of the Rat-Man bit deeply into the bony ankle of Enellirey making the girl scream even more as it hauled her mercilessly, not caring about the damage it is causing on her poor ankle as it bled openly on the ground.

"Help me! Please help me!" wailed Enellirey wailed in complete fear and panic as the Overseer pushed past small groups of her people, all having the same long hair and tapered ears like her. Most of them looked only in pity at her plight, knowing that they themselves would be on her place if they ever try to interfere. Those that seemed to have the spine to intervene are stopped by their own fellows, shaking their heads in negative. Enellirey knows then that she's doomed as she is finally dragged out of the mine into open sky where a dozen other Rat-Men are waiting. The appearance of the Overseer dragging her caused excited chattering over them all as two turned to their direction chittering in that foul language of theirs that sent tingles of disgust at her spine.

She simply ignored them all as she turned her slanted eyes all over the place littered by broken metal towers and ruined glass. Groups of small huts dotted the area with figures of her people walking or working back and forth even as Overseers of Rat-Men drove them with whip and cord. Across the large numbers of huts could be seen the Rat Citadel, looking like a giant beehive with holes powering with orange Eldritch energy. Looking at it alone Enellirey felt primal fear. Every now and then, the Rat-Men would bring some of her people there to be eaten or sacrificed to who-knows-what. When a sacrifice would be made, it's pretty obvious. The ground would shake with a small quake and the chanting of the Rat-Men inside the Citadel would be heard by everyone even as orange gas clouds puffed out from the holes of their Citadel. Now she's going to be dragged there to be eaten. She never felt so afraid in her entire life.

"Cooommmeee meaaaall," the Overseer dragging her tittered and it takes all of Enellirey's concentration to simply cover her head and avoid it being bashed open by outlying rocks. She does not want to die; she really does not want to die. As it is, all she can do is cry pathetically as the thing that enslaved her people dragged her to be its food. Oh how she wished she could fight back against these cruel masters.

Enellirey is born into bondage. She never saw her people before the arrival of these Rat-Men. All she knows is what her deceased father told her before he died from too much work. Lack of food and constant whipping resulted to his untimely demise. Before he passed away, he managed to pass down their history, as little as it is he remembered to his daughter though. Enellirey treasured those stories that he told back then when he was still alive.

The two of them would sit at the windows with her at his lap as he would tell tales about the coming of their people into this world. He would tell her of the mighty chariots that navigated the stars. Of the mighty weapons the owners of those chariots wielded taking down anything and anyone in their way. He would describe them in action driving fantastical monsters away no matter what and who they are. Enellirey often imagined herself being the owners of those said chariots wielding their godly weapons. For what they could be, but gods in the flesh being able to fly wherever they wish, whenever they wish? He would then describe how the gods made their people here giving to them the mandate to care for the world bestowed on them. He would tell her of their people's life, living in peace with the world around them, giving it the respect it is due as demanded by their gods that let them settle on this world.

This was her favorite part of her father's story. He would narrate to her how through the power of the gods; his people changed their appearance under the will of their deities. How they morphed their very beings to be one with this world for many generations to come. She loved it, loved that part of the story. For someone like her, an Alf, as her people called themselves, she can relate to that feeling to relate to nature on its finest. An Alf like her take great pleasure on seeing living beings thrive, another thing that most of them had to endure under the cruel whips of the Rat-Men, since the disgusting creatures don't give a care to anything living and would simply strike down anything that is even breathing simply for the fun of it.

Even his father did not know how exactly the Rat-Men came into being. The most famous rumor though is that of the black holes that suddenly appear out of nowhere sundering the gods from her people leaving them defenseless. With the absence of their gods, the monsters, the Rat-Men appeared from the depths of this world without warning and taking over the rule of this world from her people and enslaving them, using them as food and sacrifice for their dark god on that hollowed mountain of theirs. With them mostly pacifists, the Alf resistance wielding some of their god's holy weapons left behind is overwhelmed by sheer numbers and the dark magic they wielded.

Legend tells that one day, the sky-gods, her people's deities would one day return and save them from their cruel overlords keeping them in bondage. Though many of the Alf's have that faith, not many are holding on to that hope anymore. It has been many generations of slavery and despite their long lives for centuries at best; many Alf's never went past the age of three hundred thanks to their oppression.

For Enellirey however, it seems that the chance of even reaching a hundred is slowly slipping away from her fingers as the rough clawed fingers that dragged her slowly brings her closer and closer to her doom. Untold fear is seizing her and no matter how much she struggled or clawed, the furry iron grip of the rat holding her did not lessen one bit. So like any faithful Alf would do, Enellirey did the only thing she could in situation. She prayed.

"Dear heavens and lords of the sky, grant me deliverance, send your angels to deliver me from darkness and grant me peace," she murmured beneath her breathe clasping the small crystal hanging from a necklace in her neck. Her prayer is an old rhyme her father also taught her that had once it seemed been a part of a long prayer lost in time.

"Dear heavens and lords of the sky, grant me deliverance, send your angels to deliver me from darkness and grant me peace," she repeated again tears streaming down her face as she saw the hollowed mountain of the rats coming larger and larger in view.

"Dear heavens and lords of the sky, grant me deliverance-," she never finished her prayer as the rat dragging her gave her dirty matted hair a powerful shake making her shrill in pain.

"Stoppppp…..beeing…noissyyyy…meal!" it hissed in that foul accent of hers sending the hair at the back of her neck standing up. She never liked listening to them or their rat talk.

"Dear heavens and lords of the-,"

"I…I saaiiiiiidd…shhuuuuuttt…uuu- GLURK!" the Rat-Man Overseer never finished his words as out of nowhere a blue orb of light splashed into its chest exploding like water.

Piercing screams immediately filled the air as the Rat-Man squealed like a dying rat futilely trying to remove the liquid which seemed to seep like acid over its tattered armor. The more he struggled the more it seemed the acid eats up its flesh. Its paws which it used to wipe the acid away is also smoking already resembling a charred hand more than a paw with all its fur missing as the acid ate through the flesh showing the pale bone beneath.

For the Alfs in the area, it was a beautiful sight no matter how horrid seeing their oppressor dying in such a horrid way. For them it is a sign that their enslavement, their oppression is slowly vanishing from their eyes. As for Enellirey, she barely managed to be splashed by the liquid by rolling away barely in time. The screams of the dying Overseer attracted everyone's attention. Every Alf and Rat-Man within three kilometers came to look at the slowly dissolving rat until there is nothing left from him but a puddle of smoking blue on the ground. It is a gruesome end for such a pathetic creature. For the Alf's they cheered for the demise unlike the Rat-Men who looked around in panic as to whom and what dissolved one of their kin clutching their power staves that they used for sorcery in fear.

What happened next however was one that the Alf's or the High Elves would soon treasure for the rest of their lives.

Flashes of blue light immediately appeared over the darkening clouds as golden flying things cut through the black sky like hot knife through butter. There are hundreds of them appearing overhead. For the Alf's and Rat-Men panic immediately set in as the golden things whizzed past their skies barely making a sound leaving blue trails behind them. For the two species, they have no idea what these things are and the way they move and fly made a lot of them extremely nervous. The Rat-Men themselves utilized skiff like things haphazardly put together to traverse the skies. They have no need for things that fly preferring to keep their feet on the ground. As for the Alfs, none of them have the experience of even having their feet leave the Earth.

And of course as usual like all living beings, fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate and the Rat-Men are no exception to this. Being too used of ruling this world without anyone telling them what to do and with no one proving even a challenge of their crude psychic magic, they immediately lashed out against the newcomers.

Flashes of green energy immediately left the ground hurling towards the golden flyers. The still confused Alf's can do nothing but stare in horror as some of the green energy hurled from the staffs of the Rat-Men shamans make contact with some of the flyers who are not flying past enough making them explode in a fiery explosion of green fire and smoke. Debris immediately started raining and those that are caught in the open made immediately to run for what little cover there is to avoid the falling burning pieces of gold.

Staunch though the defense and resistance of the Rat-Men may be, but the author of this attack for attack is no slouch either. The Warp Prisms, for Warp Prisms the golden things are, are deployed in the hundreds; easily outnumbering the puny numbers of shamans that the Rat-Men possess. It doesn't take long for each and every of the Warp Prisms to achieve their intended target areas and all the Rat-Men and their slaves can do is watch helplessly as the Warp Prisms stood horizontally, its front opening up like an umbrella.

The umbrella spins leftward continuously, blue energy raging on its rods and before anyone could second guess what will happen, energy blasts immediately followed sending Rat-Men and Alf's to the ground. For the Alf's this would be their day of liberation and one that they will celebrate for millenia to come.

Lighter blue lights immediately start falling down like rain over the ground around each and every one of the Warp Prisms blinding those nearest as each arrival blinds the area for a second. For the Rat-Men it is even worse since their sensitive eyes are unused to light so much, being more designed to be able to see on the darkness of the caves and the mountains. Dozens of groups are already walking around disoriented and half-blind not noticing the golden armored figures that shimmered into existence where the lights fall.

The only warning that the Rat-Men have that something is extremely amiss are the _"pshiing!"_ sounds that signify the sounds of weapons being powered up all over. The nearest Rat-Men at the lights never stood a chance.

Humanoid golden figures wielding two blades immediately dashed forward barely seen in shimmers of blue lights catching the unsuspecting vermin as they are cut down like grass. The crude armor and ritual magic that the Rat-Men used as defense barely making any resistance against the powerful technology and weapons that the invaders are using.

" **FOR AIUR!"**

A resounding battle-cry nearly broke everyone's heads as they hear it echo like a gong over their brains. Enellirey didn't miss the chance that Fate has given her. The Rat-Man Overseer dragging her to her doom lost its grip on her leg as its stubby paws clasped its head in pain. Rolling over to the side despite the throbbing pain in her head, she immediately picked up the largest stone that her hand manage to grip on the ground and hurl it at the Overseer as best as her weak limbs can.

Fate it seems to be is definitely on her side as the throw made contact with the head of the Overseer at the side, plunging its beady eye deep into its socket. Blinded, disoriented and in severe pain, the Overseer can do nothing but simply fall down and roll around in pain as it clutched its bleeding eye-socket.

Satisfaction filled Enellirey seeing her oppressor in such a state. Grabbing another rock, she immediately pounced at the severely wounded Rat-Man, yelling as she bashed its head open with the rock again and again ignoring the blood and goo splattering her entire body. It felt so good, it felt so good killing the masters that had enslaved them and killed so many.

"For my father!"

SMASH!

"For myself!"

SMASH!

"For my people!"

SMASH!

There's almost nothing left of the Overseer's head when Enellirey stood up looking at her handiwork. The Rat-Man's head is near non-existent. Taking deep breaths she laughed aloud as she stared at the dead Rat-Man. She has just taken a life and her brain is in overdrive in panic as it tried to make sense of either being happy for killing her oppressor or being horrified at taking another sentient life.

She's not given time however to contemplate her new deed when her arm is suddenly grabbed by someone and she stared at the face of the de-facto leader of her people, the one that they looked at as their leader despite the slavery of the Rat-Men.

"Caledor!" she gasped seeing the familiar long white hair of the older Alf mired in green blood alongside large parts of him. At his free arm is a long make-shift spear made by parts of a broken pickaxe and a very sharp stone serving as the sharpened tip. Behind him is at least twenty other Alf's wielding different makeshift weapons also covered by the blood of their former masters.

"Come one! We've got to keep moving! Freedom is at hand!" shouted Caledor snapping Enellirey out of her dazed mode as she now focused of the world around her. Too concentrated is she on breaking the Rat-Man Overseer's head open that she never noticed the war surrounding them all.

The once ramshackle make shifts of the Alf's are thrown all over the place either burning or ripped as the entire area is turned into a war zone. She could see groups of golden armored figures running around with either support of a giant large four-legged golden walker spewing energy blasts all over the place with its twin cannon hands. Rat-Men all over are falling down like wheat on a stormy wind as their crude weapons and magic stood no chance against the invaders which moved with the fluidity of the very-air itself. Everywhere they went, carnage followed as Rat-Men are bisected into pieces. The sorcerers of the Rat-Men are also in trouble as they faced off with unique looking golden figures wielding no weapons but covered with electrical miasma of blue lightning energy. If Enellirey's eyes are not deceiving her, she could see that these ones with capes are actually floating into open air as they reduced the Rat-Man sorcerers into piles of ash and dust. Lightning spewed from their fingertips turning whatever it touched into charred ash. And above the skies she could continually see continuous blue lights flashing on the ground revealing even more of these golden figures.

Actually Enellirey felt very small compared to them. They are tall, majority of them wielding twin blades from their arms though some use spears; some of them, smaller and curvier than most are throwing balls of energy that exploded against whatever it touches. Others seem to be infused into the four-legged walkers of blue and gold, their heads the only thing appearing covered by some light shield. And of course there are those with capes and are flying. Following them at the rear is groups of golden drones with energy that seemed to either recharged their energy barriers or simply immobilize their enemy. What are they? Are they the ones that her father has been talking about? The ones that are supposed to deliver them?

"Caledor are they gods?" asked Enellirey as she looked at the left behind bodies, or what's left of them by these newcomers. "Is the prophecy coming true?"

"I don't know Rey, I don't know," answered Caledor somberly. "What I do know though is that they killing our masters and ignoring us. We must seize our freedom first and foremost. Once this is all through and done, then will we decide if they are the gods that we have been waiting all this time,"

Enellirey only nodded, pushing down the urge to stare in awe at the advancing golden tide towards the spire of the Rat-Men as she catches the make-shift spear that Caledor passed unto her. "Now we fight for freedom,"

"For freedom," Enellirey muttered beneath her breathe as she ran with the rest, trying to keep up with the rest of the golden figures heading toward the last bastion of the Rat-Men.

….

The pained screech of a dying Rat-Man in front of him gives satisfaction to the young Protoss as he twisted to the side avoiding a spear thrust glowing with green energy, the glaive at his right side immediately flashed in response and the Rat-Man howled as it found its front paws separated from the rest of its body. Another flash of the glaive silenced the dying vermin, its ugly head flopping disgustingly on the ground.

"For Aiur," whispered Solas to himself watching the last of his ten-man honor guard clean up the last of the Rat-Men around them. This has been the largest congregation of the vermin other than the sacrificial citadel looming in front of him with almost fifty of the creatures trying to rally against their strike.

"Executor Solas," the voice of his second-in-command echoed made him look at the taller Protoss at his side, a great general and an adviser to his father; he is the one who is supposed to "advice" Solas in the field and the young Protoss' got an inkling that his other purpose is to babysit him since in the eyes of almost everyone he is too young to lead an entire invasion force.

"Bellis," he nodded in return. "Have the groups finished mopping up the perimeter around this rock?"

"They have Executor," the scarred Protoss answered. "We are still hunting for a few stragglers that managed to escape but it is confirmed that the last of the majority of their forces are now holding up inside the rock. The other races, the Alfs also have risen in revolt and they have assembled in ragtag groups a few meters away from our forces,"

"Good, that is good. Have our warriors maintain their perimeter and make sure to keep the natives away from entering that rock. The _Goddess' Justice_ is maneuvering on low orbit and the orbital bombardment will commence any minute now and I would rather avoid friendly fire if I can,"

"Your will be done Hierarch, I will relay your orders," the older Protoss bowed before walking away leaving Solas looking at the last bastion of the enemy with his honor guard beside him.

The same anticipation and nervousness that has been present ever since the expedition fleet left Aiur remain in him. Don't get him wrong, he can't be any happier on obeying the will of the goddess. He could still remember vividly that very feast that he attended before that changed his life completely. For reasons he cannot fathom until today, the goddess herself blessed him, an honor that any Protoss would die for, naming him leader and a representative of her will. In a matter of months, he became the Executor of a large number of warriors and the one pushed to lead the first ever expedition of the warriors of Aiur. Now here he is following the orders of their beloved goddess and the light that he felt that day when she touched his head still shone brightly today despite his misgivings and nervousness of leading lives he's charged with. His goddess wanted to bring light and hope to a galaxy that would soon be engulfed by darkness. For Solas, Executor of the First Expedition, there could be no higher honor and no greater privilege.

"Executor, the _Goddess' Justice_ reports that it is in position. Your orders Executor," the Protoss communicator beside him reported.

"Commence Bomardment, leave no stone uncharred,"

"Understood Executor, bombardment commencing,"

….

"BOOOOOOOOOMMM!" the very world shook as if a giant sledgehammer just hammered itself down on the very core of the planet. For the Alfs, if there is any doubt before that this is the gods that they've been waiting for in there prophecy, now there is none.

The very sky itself tears apart in half as a powerful beam of magnificent blue blinded the planet's inhabitants striking itself smack dab right on the mountain of rock and filth that resembles the Rat-Men's fortress. White light flashed like lightning as the two energies met. One side created by foul sorcery and the daily torture and sacrifices of souls offered to the minor Chaos god which serves as the Rat-Men's deity and the other carrying the full faith of the Protoss civilization and the sharpness of the purpose that their goddess ingrained on their very being.

For a moment the green energy shield of the mountain seemed to look like it will hold. The Protoss however would not be denied. Armed with a faith so narrow that no temptation will break and wielding technologies specifically designed for them to be conquerors of the stars, no amount of sorcery or blessing by the minor Rat-Men's god can stand up to their might. The shied folded like a sheet of paper and the squeals and shrieks of the Rat-Men are heard in kilometers as they watched their last salvation crack open like an egg before the beam hit the mountain glassing the entire area in bright light. The mountain never stood a chance. Rocks evaporated in a molecular level leaving nothing of them remaining. The very earth itself is scorched and nothing survived not even bacteria.

The beam lasted nothing more than a few seconds, but when it's finally gone, all that remain of the Rat-Men's dreaded citadel is a pile of ash and dust. As for the Rat-Men themselves, there is nothing left of them but the memories that they left behind on the minds of their former slaves. In time, the memories itself would also disappear as the Alfs would rise from their bondage and take to the stars just like their new deities.

As it is currently Enellirey found herself prostate once more, her face touching the ground like the rest of her kind as one of the gods of prophecy approached her and her people. Truly they are the ones that are foretold bringing peace to the rest of their people. The weapons they wielded, the powers they have, it is all a testament to their strength.

A faint shimmer of blue appeared near the bowing Alfs and the nearest immediately scrambled back in their knees as out of thin air and light appeared another one of the invaders. However this one is different. Despite looking like the rest, it is painfully obvious that this one is different compared to the rest.

His armor is white shining like diamonds with gilded gold at its sides. He is also taller and bulkier compared to the golden warriors who bowed at his entrance. His strides are regal and measured, no stone left undisturbed despite his large frame. That alone depicts skill of a great amount. If that's not enough, the entirety of the Alfs could feel something emanating from him, power and wisdom going off in waves. It is both demanding respect and fear from everyone around him. For a second no one moved as the Alfs remain prostate while the Protoss stared at them, blue eyes calculating giving Enellirey the feeling as if they are staring at her soul. Given the power that they have, she would not be surprised.

"I am Hierarch Destrius, of the Protoss Enclave. Where is the person that charged the attack against these vile vermin?" his voice boomed without warning inside each of their heads making some of the Alfs wince in pain at the sudden thundering sound. Being unprepared with the sudden contact, most of them are caught off guard.

"I am he," the familiar voice of Caledor made every Alf look up to their pseudo-leader that have rallied the offense against the Rat-Men when their gods arrive. "On behalf of my people, I thank you my lord for everything that you've done. We have waited long for your arrival, and now that you're here, I find myself speechless,"

For a moment, the Protoss is silent and Enellirey could see that Caledor is literally sweating bullets despite his proud countenance as the Protoss eye him down, its blue eyes turning sharper at his words. Just as that she's ready to beg for forgiveness at the proud words of their leader. She heard a rumble coming from the Protoss and to blush as she realized that he is laughing.

"You've got bravery young one and in large amount too. Something that every leader should need, I name you Caledor the Brave. From here and henceforth that shall be your title!" he roared out loud and Enellirey found her jaw dropping at the recognition that the newly anointed young leader got. But it seems that the Protoss is not yet finished for he stifled his laughter as he looked at them all sternly.

"Now get up, all of you, for we are not what you are expecting us to be," he said simply making majority of the Alfs blink in confusion at his words as they get to their feet. Even Enellirey is confused. What does he mean by them not what they are expecting? Aren't they the star-gods that her father told her about? The ones who lead her people here and the ones prophesied to save them and lead them to another golden age of prosperity?

Once sure that all their attention is on him, the Hierarch looked at the assembled crowd sternly in the eyes. "We are not the gods that you are waiting for, the ones that your primitive prophecies are talking about. However there is a deity that we worship and honor beyond life, and she's the one that sent us here to save all of you from oppression. If there is any of you who believed on that golden age where you have purpose and a responsibility, then I bid you follow her as we did and take your rightful place to the stars, not as Alfs, as the Rat-Men named you, but as Highborne, the Spears of the Goddess!"

….

Author's Note:

Please review. It took me a while to write this. Im not sure if some of you have noticed, but I am relating the Warhammer 40K with some of the elements of the Warhammer franchise original. Basically this chapter is the prologue of the High Elves in Warhammer.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

" _We sons of Grungni may have drunk deep from the bitter wastes of misfortune, but we yet survive. Whilst a single Dwarf draws breath, we will fight the evils that assails us, and we will never, ever give up._

 _-Heingst Stonebelly, Dwarf Longbeard._

…

She can't help but smile as piercing ruby eyes looked towards the great project that the Protoss is building around Aiur. It is certainly ambitious, even in her standard. But the Artisans of the Protoss caste have been pushy in their attitude in the past few weeks. Apparently the news of the Templar Caste winning over the Alfs or the High Elves as they now called them thanks to the renaming of the Hierarch to their entire race isn't received well by the Artisans thanks to a little bit of jealousy.

She has foreseen this, she knows that despite their unity, the very fact that the Protoss are grouped into three castes would one day cause strife. And although it doesn't cause any division in the view of things of their race as a whole, they are still prone on being competitive on many things. Thus, the fact that the Artisan Caste feel as if they are being outdone by their warriors brothers and sisters in arms in their service to their beloved goddess, they have stepped up their game on achieving something that would be on par with the victory of the newly found planet of the High Elves.

Of course she knows that in the larger run of things when it comes to the universe, one victory over a single planet doesn't count much. However the very fact that it is the first planet that the Protoss conquered or liberated when they first rose to the stars meant a lot for her people. Already the liberation of the High Elves and their planet are being recorded in the annals of the Protoss. Large numbers of tomes about the battle, the tactics involved, the enemy they dealt with and such are being put into place on its many archives. It might just be one measly planet in the face of the entire galaxy, but the significance of that first step meant a lot for her created.

Of course she had expected them to be victorious. The faith of the Protoss people have boosted her power tremendously and she had been able to extend her consciousness into space searching for the perfect viable target that both would boost her Created's ego when it comes to the path she set them on and also give them a perfect ratio of success that would give them the proper leap they needed to win the stars. Judging from the results, it worked well….a little too well. Already the rest of the Warrior Caste is gunning to be present for the next campaign to win glory and achieve the purpose that she set for them.

As for the Artisan Caste, they have prompted to achieve the same results as the Warrior Caste does although in their own way. And she has to say, that she's color impressed with what they achieved.

Aiur as a whole is a garden world filled with lush oases and large tracts of forests and vegetation that made up the majority of its surface. Only the largest cities like Aiur and such can be settled on with great numbers and the only places where the great architecture and machines of the Artisans can be put into place. The rest of the planet is too muddy or too unstable for the larger buildings to be placed upon. Of course this doesn't affect the daily life of the Protoss. They have enough grounds for all Castes involved in the cities, and no space is ever wasted. However despite the stability of their planet, what the Protoss lack above all else is their ability to produce ships. Sure there are small shipyards at Aiur, but they mostly produce teleportation array ships; the ones that would enable the transporters of the Protoss to be able to serve as a beacon for the arrays to teleport manpower.

The main shipyards of the Protoss people though is located on their seven moons. Miles long of golden habitation units filled with different members of the three Caste systems. On them are large empty spaces of yards made with the sole intention of spitting out ships for the Great Reclamation. However there is one small hiccup that the Artisan Caste caught a snag in.

The moons are not that stable.

Sure shipyards may be able to be made on the seven moons, however their size and number have to be severely limited. The moons of Aiur apparently are not stable despite their numbers surrounding the planet. The sizes of the yards have to be limited only making the production of the larger ships that the Protoss Artisans designed almost impossible to build. The making of the _Goddess' Justice,_ the fifty kilometer flagship of the Protoss alone took two years to build. It has to be coordination from the seven moons sending materials and requirements for it even to be possible to be built. They have to build it in open space for the ship yards of any of the moons can barely even fit the front hull of the large golden flagship. It took a lot of effort on everyone but it is done.

The Artisan Caste however resolved to take care of this ship-building problem as their gift to their goddess and something to balance the success of the Warrior Caste at the Liberation of the High Elves. And she has to admit that even she is impressed by their work, they certainly came up trumps on their gift for her.

Aiur is as regular as any garden world. However what made it different from the rest of the garden worlds is its gravity. It is heavier, and more damaging to those who walk in bipedal legs. That's the reason why Protoss legs are so different unlike most humanoids. Their lower-body bone structure made them strong enough to walk and run in the strong gravity of Aiur. If a regular human jumps at the surface of the planet, his landing would result to both his kneecaps cracking at the heavier landing. Not for Protoss though, it is another reason for their stronger than usual bodies. This strong gravity of their home world is what the Artisan Caste is aiming for.

Thousands of their best researchers put their heads together nearly not stopping except for sleep and rest worked at the Great Archive Library of Aiur. There nearly every tome about building and anything related to space and gravity are pulled out and studied by said researchers. Ideas are thrown about by the multitudes and after a cycle of arguments and planning and designing using tidbits of the greatest minds their race have to offer. The Artisan Caste of the Protoss began their most ambitious project yet, the Planetary Rings of Aiur,

It might be called a Ring in simple terms but it is anything but simple. What serves as rings are in fact two large spaceports circling the entirety of the planet of Aiur. Here, nearly eighty percent of the war-machine of the Enclave are produced and also serves as the economical Hub of a large margin of the population of the Artisan Caste. Despite Aiur being a garden world, with the planets' native animals being not so friendly to anyone outside the walls of the cities, it is impossible for the Protoss to expand without killing the forests and animals that littered their lush garden world; something that any Protoss really don't like to do.

As a result, the Great Rings became the new space cities for the Created of the goddess of creation. Hundreds of space ports littered the Rings rotating in gravity around the garden planet providing much needed ships for the requirement of the navy whose numbers exploded from a paltry few to an armada that would give any Space Marine Legion pause in terms of numbers. Already the Warrior Caste pilots are terming the slowly growing fleet, the Golden Armada thanks to the color scheme that the Protoss people prefer. The Rings also serve as a defense grid of their beloved home planet. Thousands of guns big and small are specifically designed by the bright minds of the Artisan caste with the sole purpose of defending their home. Any daring invader would find themselves torn to pieces by the stations guns even before they could appreciate the beauty of the planet they are about to invade. All in all, it is a worthy gift to her; something that the Warrior Caste also envies.

Pulling herself back to her physical body in the Materium, she looked down from the floating city on the new planet they annexed from the Rat-Men towards the gathering numbers of the newly named Highborne, or in another term, the High Elves. She has to admit that the Protoss Warrior Caste actually managed to save this race from disaster just in time. With Warp Storms still prevailing all around them, a lot of these former humans would have been victims of the Chaos gods. A large number of them have the latent ability to be a psyker give or take a few decades. They would have been playthings for the Chaos gods and none of their culture, as little as it is would have survived. The former Alfs are peace-loving people but she could sense the greatness in them. They are more than capable of doing great things. What it needs though is the proper push on the right direction.

Already that push is being done. The Council in their first major discussion about another world literally bent over backwards since their patron goddess shows a little bit of interest in this new undeveloped planet. Nearly every priest of the Hierarch Caste that is not required back at Aiur came in droves on this planet carrying the "goodwill" and the "present" of the Enclave and the blessing of their goddess. Khydarin crystals with differentiating sizes are planted on specific locations around this world rendering it invisible in the eyes of the Chaos gods like Aiur is. And of course the Priests didn't waste time converting the locals which is very easy thanks to the liberation efforts of the Warrior Caste.

Despite the leaps and bounds that her Created made though, she still felt worried. She's already starting to become concerned with the timeline of events that will happen sooner or later. While the numerous Warp Storms still continue to plague the majority of the galaxy, it is plainly obvious that they are slowly lessening as the Material rifts slowly repairs itself. Already her precognition of time is telling her that once the Warp Storms close; it would be a new age, for who however is a big question. She could feel the Chaos gods hungering ever past the bubbles of blindness that the Khydarin crystals pose, the ambitions of another like her, a servant of Order and anathema against the darkness, the tortured screams of a goddess locked in eternal damnation, and the ever present residual schemes of the Laughing god whose weaves of play even she does not understand. Soon things will come to a head and she knows that her Created and her followers must be ready for whatever it is to come. She has prepared them as best as she can, technologically, physiologically and psychologically to be the light against the darkness that would soon engulf the lull of peace in the galaxy. They must be ready! There is no other way.

Turning her eyes to the now launching ships of the Golden Armada, a thousand strong ships with nearly a hundred Capital Ships, (the same size as the one that brought down the Rat-Men enslaving the Alfs) from the Rings towards to the unknown to discover new worlds and bring it under her protection, she knows in her heart of hearts that the road ahead would not be a simple one. In fact it would be a road of trials and tribulations, but they must endure. The light of the galaxy would depend on them and they can't afford to be lax about it lest everything be forever swallowed by Chaos.

…..

There has always been Dwarves and there have always been vampires. Ever since the beginning of time, the conflict between the two races has always been ever prevalent. Even the historians of the golden ages have forgotten where it all began. All they know that the fighting between their kinds has been there all the time. The vampires are stronger, faster, and more deadly than the stout-hearted under dwellers. As a result, the Dwarves are forced to innovate, to turn their eyes to weapons of steel and fire to combat the physical prowess of their mortal enemies.

Generations passed as the conflict grows on. Battle after battle, their world is bathed on the blood of the two races. Whereas the Vampires adapted and grow more intelligent on the ways of killing their prey, the Dwarves' innovation made them progress from swords and bows to weapons of steam and gunpowder. However there is one thing that the Dwarves' have that the vampires don't. The Dwarves have the sun.

When the sun is up, the vampires turn to their daylight dens and the dwarves' would advance fully, trying their best to recover long lost territories that they lost on the darkness of the night. On the rising of the moon though, it would be vice versa and the vampires who would lie in wait would once more crawl out of their holes and the hordes would once more descend on the bearded folks of the land.

Faced with this quandary of disaster, the Dwarves shut themselves on walled cities under the protection of their churches. To avoid extinction, the great folks of the mountains and the rock abandoned the wide lands that they own outside the great walls to preserve their lives. This forced the war between the two in a bloody stalemate. The Dwarves knowing that if their last bastions fell, fought tooth and nail to throw back the vampire threat, this ferocity of their prey caught the bloodsuckers off guard and the advance is stalled on the great walls. Gunpowder and mechanical marvels of the medieval ages met against claws and flesh of the lithe monsters of the night nearly every week and the sides of the walls of the Great cities are ever mired in blood.

The Dwarves though, know that this tactic is nothing more than a stall effort. Every single battle on the walls reduced the number of their warriors while the vampires on the other hand seem endless in numbers compared to them. Already five cities have fallen on the continent despite the staunch defense of their defenders thanks to the vampires seemingly overwhelming the walls by sheer force of numbers alone.

You see vampires are not your typical humanoid blood sucking fiend that dresses up as a human. These vampires are lithe, monstrous and though they take humanoid form, they act more like animals walking in all four limbs without eyes, nose or ears. All they have is a mouth and deadly claws which they use to rip their victims apart. They are agile though, very agile that even the dwarves in full armor and equipped with large mechanized guns and battle-axes cannot stand against them man to man. Their increased supernatural strength is also a hindrance for the dwarves. Large hive guardians are more than enough to crush to tin can the huge mechanized machines that the Dwarves drive to combat bigger foes.

This blood feud between the two races continue for centuries until now the Dwarves are left nothing but five cities with _Rantel_ being the only one left standing in strength and being the primary bulwark against the vampire hordes. Protected by natural fortifications of mountains and deep valleys, _Rantel_ served as the passageway to the rest of the four cities of the Dwarves. In its walls the final fate of the Dwarven race will be decided. If _Rantel_ falls, the other four cities would be left defenseless against the Dwarves' long time enemy. It is in this moment of fate that the Templar Caste shows itself.

…

 _Rantel Last Day of the Dwarven Lunar Year._

"Hrungi! Hrungni! Hrungni!" the cheer of the Dwarven Warriors echoed on the three gates of Rantel as their king and leader for nearly four hundred years rides through the shadows of the great gates of the city towards the forefront of the battle. Grungni however can see the sadness in his father's eyes despite the familiar words of inspiration and comfort he made to the people to quell their fears in the face of this attack.

This is no longer the Hrungi of old who charged recklessly against the Demon Horde before the fall of the last two cities that left Rantel alone standing. It is as if he has withdrawn within himself not out of fear or uncertainty, but deep abiding sadness which seemed to have quenched his spirit of all fire. It is a shell of his father that knows that the end will soon to come. Grungi himself believed it. The vampire horde assailing them today is stronger than it has been for millennia. It seems as if the vampires have finally tired of simply raiding the Dwarves bit by bit and decided to wipe them clean off the face of their world by this simply devastating blow of numbers. The responsibility fell on his father, their king to see the end of their race. The generals of course knows about it and accepted it, everyone who knows made the final decision to fight the fiends one last time and give them a bloody nose as they leave this living world instead of lying down and die.

Grungni embraced his father warmly masking the sadness that he feels for the old dwarf. Then he steps back and holds forth the Staff of Ruling, the scepter of the Dwarves.

"This belongs to you father,"

Hrungi seems to hesitate momentarily then slowly shook his head. "No Grungni. It belongs to you now. You must carry it for me,"

Grungi stares at his father wordlessly. His father knows. He knows that he is not well, knows that something within him is not like before his younger years. The pretense he makes to others, he does not conceal to his son.

Grungi withdraws the staff. "Then stand with me on the wall father," he asked softly. His father nods and together they climb up the battlements.

Even as they do so, the foremost of the vampire horde gain the banks of the river which serves as a natural defense. Out of the waters they surge with savage cries to throw themselves against the waiting lances and spears that bristle from behind the bulwarks of the Dwarves. In moments there are Vampires emerging from the river banks along the entire length of the first defensive line outside the wall, slimy and dirty, a jumble of pale white limbs, claws and jaws ripping and tearing at the defenders that bar their path.

At its center, Chief Grimond, the king's personal friend and the last of his clan anchored the defense. The buffed red-haired dwarf standing at the forefront of his clansmen, giant battle-axe raised. On the flanks are elements of the Dwarven royal army: Tay and Day of the Royal Guards called out to their soldiers: Hold! By the Stone, hold!"

But they can hold no longer. Outflanked and outnumbered, the defensive line began to crumble. Huge Hive Vampires thrust through the defenders and breached the walls open to those who followed. The waters of the River are dark with Vampire lifeblood and twisted bodies courtesy of the non-stop shelling of the Dwarves in the city with their mortars and catapults. For every one that fell, three replaced it though, a savage rush with no end.

Atop the second gates of Rantel, Grungni gives the order to fall bacl. Quickly the Dwarves abandoned the crumbling river wall and slip into tunnels underground, following carefully memorized paths to the safety of the second gates. Almost before the vampires realize what is happening, the defenders are within its walls and the gates are shut behind them.

Instantly the vampires are in pursuit. Pouring through the gates like sand, they run afoul to the hundreds of snares and pitfalls the Dwarves have lay out for them. For a few seconds the entire rush stalled. However they simply overran those caught in the traps and came into range of the walls. Massing up together, they attacked. Up the walls of the gate they charged, swarming atop one another until they are pouring over the defenses of the lower level despite the stubborn resistance of the dwarves greeting them with guns and axes. They swarmed along the walls and rock like insects. ; bodies clawing, leaping and bounding up the slope of the gates shrieking with hunger. The Dwarves are appalled. The river has not stopped the advance. The defenses at the bank have been overrun in minutes. Now the first level of the gates has been lost and even the cliff wall does not seem to slow them down. It is beginning to look as if all their defenses would prove useless.

Vampire bodies thud against the gates of the second wall, clawing upward. Axes and pikes thrust down lodging off the attackers. The gates sagged on their hinges with the weight of the rush. Yet this time the defenders hold. Iron and sinew brace the gates and repels the attack. Cries of pain, death and explosion fills the air and the vampire forms builds into a mass of writhing force, surging mindlessly against the walls of the second gate. Out of their midst came a handful of Hive guardians, massive vampires that dwarf their brethren. Powerful forms clawed up the walls, sightless faces twisted with madness. Dwarven defenders fall to them, shredded by their claws and trampled underneath, crying out in death.

Powerful booms meet them head on catching the Hive guardians by surprise as they are turned to paste and chunks of meat. Dwarves wielding some of the more advanced boom stick cannons lead the charge and the dwarves counterattack throwing the rest of the vampires off the wall to the dark mass below.

The vampires gathered force yet the defenders hold on still. Rifle wielding dwarves from the third level and mortal crews continue giving support to the lancers and axe-men below. Then suddenly a massive vampire rises out of the attackers and comes at the gates of the second level trampling its smaller brethren below. Hissing in fury, it throws its bulk against the gates, snapping the crossbars and loosening the hinges. In desperation the Dwarves sought to thrust it back, but the monstrous thing seemingly shrug off the blows and guns, weapons pinging off its hard leather skin. A second time it throws itself on the gates and this time it split apart shattering backwards to the gathered defenders. The Dwarves fall back at once fleeing up to the third and final level where the next set of gates remain wide open to receive them. The massive vampire and its brethren follow after pouring on the rampway.

For an instant it seems that all hope would be lost. The vampires are coming too fast and the escaping defenders are too slow to escape the more agile predators. Those at the gates cannot close it in fear of locking outside the rest of the army leaving them at the fate of the demons. For a second it would seem that all hope would be lost especially since the massive vampire is ripping off the dwarven mechanized war machines that try to stop it like paper.

Grungi himself felt hopelessness slowly engulf him as he observes the disaster that is slowly starting to unfold in his eyes. If the dwarven army is unable to make it to the gate, it would not matter if they hold the gate. The vampires would overrun what little defenders there are. If they however let the army pass through, they would be unable to close the gate which the vampire tide would then engulf them all in an instant.

He wanted to cry out in frustration. Grabbing his war-axe, he's just ready to make the rallying call to his kinsmen to follow him into one final charge of hopelessness to make the bloodsucking fiends pay for their victory when a bright beam of light immediately came down from the sky crashing right into the vampire giant leading the charge engulfing it immediately.

Grungni can only watch in silent amazement as more beams of light came from the heavens crashing down in the frontal lines of the vampire horde sending bodies flying everywhere and making the unstoppable charge of the vampire stop into a grinding halt as those at the front refuse to take one more step forward and be engulfed in the beams of light that come from the night sky illuminating the entire area. Those unlucky enough to be pushed on the momentum of the charge get incinerated in a molecular level.

Grungni doesn't know how long he has been standing there watching the flashing lights rain from the heavens continuously and decimating their long term enemy. Behind him his kinsmen also is as the same state as he is as they watched the miracle happening in their eyes. The Dwarves may not be zealous when it comes to their religion, but they are not stupid enough to ignore a miracle when there is one happening right in front of their eyes. Add the fact that said miracle is currently saving them from total disaster and annihilation, this only reinforce the belief that what is happening right now is an act of god in their eyes.

And just as fast as the lights came, it stopped leaving nothing behind but a dust of smoke and earth. However as Grungni squinted forward he could see beings striding and emerging from the smoke. His breathe hitched forward as the tall beings came into view facing the confused and now disorganized vampire rabble. Dressed in golden elegant armor and very tall in his opinion, he can't help the dread he feels in his heart. As far as he knows, only vampires and dwarves live in these lands for millennia other than the non-sentient creatures. He has no idea what these people are as more of them appear, some of them carrying massive spears taller than them glowing in unearthly blue energy. Their skins are blue and their lights are shining as the very stars themselves. They retain almost the same humanoid structure as they do, but taller and thinner and he could swear up and down that these are very deadly.

Are these the gods that his people have been praying to? He can't help but wonder. They don't look the same as the ones they stashed in their halls of praise and monuments.

Before he could even contemplate more however about their new arrivals, the tall beings charged without warning, without sound that he would have sworn that he only imagined it as they tear through the confused vampires apart with ease. He could only watched with magnified wonder as the vampires caught off guard by this new beings barely manage to show the fury that their kind possess as they are torn to pieces.

Being a warrior himself, Grungi can only say that this level of killing is new to him. The beings are blurs of blue and gold barely registered movements noticed by his eyes as they take killing to a whole new level. All Dwarves boast on being warriors, however seeing these "gods" rip through their ancient enemy as easy as taking a walk seriously dents their pride as warriors. He could only watch as they wrecked through the horde like fire on paper. No movement of theirs is wasted and the vampires do manage to strike never gets the chance to do it again as they are torn asunder by a counter. Those wielding spears probably do the most damage than those that wields the swords made of godly energy. Every swipe of their amazing weapons takes three to five vampires at once. This is not a battle. This is a massacre.

Despite the awe, fear and dread mixed into one, Grungni managed to pull himself together as he hefts the shaft of his axe tighter as he pulled his eyes away from the every growing carnage to the assembled ragged army of dwarven warriors who stands rooted at the spot behind him. Now is the time to attack and bring the vengeance of the dwarven people to their hated enemy.

"Brothers and sisters! The gods have now joined the battle against the fiends that destroyed our home. Don't let this opportunity go to waste as we are given now free leave to take our vengeance! For our ancestors! For the fallen of the Dwarven race that fought this fiends for generations! Khazad! Khazad! Ai Menu!" roared Grungni feeling the bloodlust and the courage that made him the warrior he is rise as he raised his axe into the air.

He could see at once that it worked. His people finally snapped out of their stupor as they hefted their own weapons cheering and roaring in approval of their prince. "Khazad! Khazad! Khazad! For Prince Grungni!" the call goes out from mouth to mouth.

"Open the gates! To victory!" Grungni roared as he jumped down from the wall making sure that his axe bit into the skull of a wounded vampire trying to crawl away. "The gods fight on our side! To victory! Khazad Ai Menu!" roaring he ran towards the masse of vampires trying to fend off the "gods" killing them.

This would be the day that would elevate Grungni as a simple dwarf prince to a legend of his people who fought side by side with the gods.

…

 **Author's Note: I'm trying to include the races of the Warhammer original franchise before we go to 40K We've got one more race to unite under the banner of the goddess before we go toe to toe with Mr. Emperor of Mankind.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

" _Aye together. I cannot do this alone; I need my sword-brothers with me. Swear with me, my friends. Swear that everything we do from this day forth will be in service of this vision of a united empire of man,"_

 _-Sigmar, High King of the Empire_

….Atop the floating mountains of Aiur, she sat on the palace created for her by the Celestials. For a being like her, time was never an issue. Yet since the first time she first came into being, she had been pressed for time as the Khydarin crystals placed all over different worlds brought to heel by her subjects were showing her everything she needed to know.

For an immortal, it seemed quite ironic that having little time was her issue. However currently, it is and it seems all she can do for now is wait it out and trust in her created to fulfill her will as best as they can.

It had been two centuries since the first invasion of Valinor, the now named planet of the High Elves, two centuries ever since the Protoss rose to the stars to reclaim their birthright and more importantly, to share the light of their goddess in the galaxy. Great golden fleets now roamed the stars searching for new worlds to conquer, splinters of the Golden Armada, the thousands ship fleet of the Protoss bring planet after planet under her name. Of course following her statutes, peaceful planets with alien inhabitants were left well-enough alone by her Created, only offered a place in the slowly rising glory of those under her. Majority of course of these planets were uplifted by their own choice, taking the chance to advance under her watch, not that there were much of them in the first place. She could count in her two hands however, the civilizations that refused the new way of life spreading in their small corner of the galaxy. These worlds were mostly peaceful ones, wanting to preserve their way of life, and despite their refusal, they still were included in her sphere of influence and was counted to be worlds to be protected.

Not that everything was going her way however, while seven to ten species were found peaceful and some even humanoid in form, that's three times the numbers of hostile ones that they found. Worlds governed by creatures of unknown origins or denizens mutated by the Warp thank to the Birth of the Eye of Terror plagued a lot of worlds. The Protoss for their entire technological prowess were significantly slowed down on their crusade to bring her light by these powers. Casualties began pouring in and for the first time in Protoss history ever since her arrival. Her Created got the wakeup call that they were not invincible despite their new upgrades in society. It's a good thing since Protoss were intelligent and instead of letting their initial failures down, the Warrior Caste adjusted their combat doctrine on every battle they fought slowly molding the warriors and soon-to-be warriors into a deadly force in the galaxy.

The other species also helped. Despite not as fanatical in their devotion to her, the Alfs or now termed Highborne joined the Protoss in their crusade in a galaxy wide scale; same with the Dwarves who retained a submissive attitude to the ones that prevented their annihilation. They were the two of the most prominent of those uplifted which took to the stars with fervor. Leaving their planets of Hronjenheim and Valinor, the two species aided as best as they could. It helped since next they also worship the goddess of creation as a deity.

As she expected, both species integrated easily into the Protoss Artisan Caste. The Dwarves to the Protoss that focuses more on craft and the High Elves to those of literature, philosophy, songs and poetry. While the Artisan Caste remains proud of their fields, the additional new ideas brought by the two races were a good source of interest, and addition to many Protoss on it. Protoss Artisans now create better armor with new designs than their usual wares and there was a certain set of elegance to everything they create now.

The two races' help did not come only from the industrial sector. Despite their still recovering population, pockets of their people brave enough joined the Templar Caste's efforts on bringing more worlds to the fold. The Highborne group led especially by the leader of their people, Caledor showed an affinity that almost matched the Protoss' grace when it comes to way of fighting. The two races were almost the same in combat doctrine that it was not a surprise that the Highborne earned the Templar Caste's respect unlike the Dwarves. Led by their prince Grungni, the Dwarven Sappers earned their merit in battle. They're not fast and agile as the Protoss, they're not clever or elegant like the Highborne. They were stocky, built more for open combat and parades making them the exact opposite of the Templar Caste's way of battle.

The battle of Rowa Vindicta changed it all.

It was supposed to be an easy battle. The Rat-Men apparently wasn't only found on the world of Valinor. The pesky vermins with their foul sorcery had spread far and wide in this part of the galaxy. Many times the Protoss had to deal with their ilk in new worlds. The planet Rowan was one of them.

Rat-Men plagued the planets surface like vermin making it easy for the Second Splinter of the Golden Armada to simply glass the entirety of the planet's surface and purge the Rat-Men. The fortress of Rowa Vindicta however changed everything. At first glance, the fortress perched at the side of a mountain looked impregnable and hard to crack. At least for non-space faring species it was. This fortress was the last refuge for the Rat-Men on the planet and the elements of the Second Splinter fleet moved in to take it out.

The Protoss and their allies however found out that cracking the ancient fortress was a lot harder than they thought at first. Powerful shields generated from the Warp summoned by millions of blood sacrifice by the Rat-Sorcerers were able to stave off the powerful anti-orbital campaign that the fleet threw from orbit. And when the Templar Caste started to begin throwing troops on its walls, it became a massacre. Mad-crazed Rat-Men tainted by the Warp caught the onslaught off guard as the ones easy prey became the Hunters. With no sense of self-preservation, the vermin came like a tidal wave to the members of the Templar Caste on the ground. Despite having superior technology, not even the Protoss aided by the Highborne were able to hold their ground as many literally got swarmed by the Rat-Men who remained uncaring of their losses as their foes fought back. With the shield made by sorcery still covering them, the fleet was unable to help the ground forces as the battle slowly turned out to a rout.

Ironically it was the Dwarves of Hronjeheim that made victory a possibility. Armed with their dreaded war-masks and led by their beloved prince Grungi, the Dwarven Sappers made their stand at the entrance of the dreaded valley. Numbering sixty in all, the Sappers held their ground like the very stones of their planet as they fought with large "boomsticks" and two-handed axes against the Rat-Men horde face to face unlike the cleverer Protoss and Highborne that relied on agility and their energy shields as their main weapons. Used to the type of warfare thanks to their past with the Vampires, the Dwarves held as rocks preventing the retreat to a route. Elements of the other species like the smaller Ungoys (See Halo) and the heavily scaled Lizardmen that also joined the Conclave that volunteered to be attached to the Artisan Caste that began colonizing efforts on the planet also entered the fray, the untested species proving their merits for the first time.

Maddened as they were, Rat-Men still retain their physiological aspects which made it easy for the more hardened Dwarven veterans to hold their ground. Armored with scales of black palladium etched in green the Sappers held at the valley's end forcing the Rat-Men to choke point where the rest of the ground forces started to rain any artillery that they can manage on the gathered rats.

The battle lasted for three hours straight. Dwarves grappling with the Rat-Men in a never ending struggle. It seemed to be a stalemate. Dwarves were too stubborn to give ground and Rat-Men were too many for the Dwarves to finish off all on their own without the fleet's help. It was the third hour that brought victory to grasp. Dwarven Sappers specifically chosen not to join finally achieved their mission. Climbing up the tops of both mountain sides of the valley, specific locations were bombed causing a landslide straight down to the valley floor burying the Rat-Men and fifty of the Sappers who chose to held their ground and not retreat.

The battle of the fortress of Rowa Vindicta was the bloodiest recorded in Protoss history ever since the Protoss rose to the stars. The fifty Dwarves were given the highest honors of their people and named Paragons as their remains were sent home. A Celestial from Aiur even came and blessed their remains giving the Dwarves of Hronjeheim for the first time a physical evidence of the goddess everyone worshiped. Ever since then the Dwarves of Hronjenheim had been accepted fully to the fold and their way of fighting was no longer scoffed at.

All in all everything turned out for the best despite the circumstances. The battle prevented every race on the Conclave from being too arrogant and dependent on their technological superiority. It also made the rest of the member races of the Conclave to be wary of the predations and the dangers of the Warp.

That very reason brings her now to the point of her worries.

The Warp or the Great Ocean as the beings before that created her called the Immaterium was not safe in the slightest. Thousands of years brought decadence and decay as the psychic manifestation of the material world echoed on it. The fall of the Eldar Empire bringing a dark age to the entirety of the galaxy as a whole was only the last straw as the Great Ocean turned to a conduit of madness and decay. Now all that negative energy has turned to a mass critical point creating beings of mass power each representing the worst that the material world has to offer. She knows deep inside that even she must be careful on dealing with such beings. The fountain of knowledge instilled on her made her more than aware that even in her current state constantly fueled by the faith of her subjects that belonged to the enclave, she's still not powerful enough to challenge the four Chaos gods of the Immaterium and win. She had to be careful to mask the location of the first Khydarin crystal buried on the core of Aiur that housed her entire being. If it was ever destroyed, she would cease to exist with her being forever dissipated and scateered on the vastness of the materium.

As of right now, she knew she had to rely on her Created and the Conclave of races that they united to spread her light. While not as strong as the Chaos gods, her very being was an anathema to them. The Khydarin crystals brought everywhere by the Protoss served as a talisman against the predations of the warp. Every planet where the large ones were planted served as buffer regions masking the area in a light of silence that made it invisible in the eyes of psykers and any warp related monstrosity. In fact if a daemon dared enter these blank areas of space and die while being on its sphere, its being would not be able to reenter on the Warp. So while she herself cannot face the enemies of Order face to face, the large fleets of the Golden Armada were free to traverse the stars and face the servants of Chaos without handicaps.

And that brought her to premonition right now that also attracted the attention of the Celestials that surround her. Being beings of energy, they do not need words to communicate. She hid nothing from them and they also hid nothing from her. The Celestials adored her more than the fanatic Protoss can ever hope to be. Sufficed it to say, the rest of the beings of light were connected to her in life and death. If she ever dies, their entire beings die with her. The very thought was an anathema for them. That's why they guard her physical avatar endlessly despite the fact that it can be remade again.

As for her premonition, it lies more on her worries for her Created. With the knowledge left to her by the Eldar that gave her being, she's more than aware of the horrors of other species that called these Materium their home. Undead robots buried in an uncounted number of worlds hell-bent on apocalypse in a galactic scale, corrupted Eldar who would stop at nothing to sate their thirst of the practices that brought down the Empire, brutish orks which was a menace to everyone and their gods, and of course the never ending monsters of Chaos. Her previous life as a human being, despite not being so interested by this reality, which was a game in her former reality, also gave her memories of humans, cruel, dark, bigoted, an Imperium that ruled the stars, massive space parasites that devoured planets, humans corrupted by chaos, technologically advanced blue aliens indoctrinating people and of course, the ever treacherous Eldar.

All these were threats to her Created and for the life of her she had no idea how to preserve this little place of light in the galaxy. At least if you call three thousand and one hundred planets currently controlled by the Conclave small.

Technologically wise, the Conclave were more than ready to face the galaxy. Its members currently were: the Celestials, her eternal guardians; Protoss, her Created and currently the most numerous and technologically wisest; Higborne, the High Elves of Valinor, fairest and wisest; Dwarves, stunted people of Hronjenheim, great builders and artisans; Unggoy, a small bipedaled race from the planet of Bulaho, great laborers, and of course the lizardmen, a peaceful group of reptiles from planet Corvat uplifted by the Protoss. Currently these were the members of the Conclave with the Celestials and the Protoss taking the first seats in controlling it.

While the Conclave would be more than ready for war in a galactic scale, numbers wise they would be unable to sustain a drawn out war. In simpler terms, they would be unable to replenish their numbers so fast compared to casualties at a later date. None of the races other than the Unggoy and lizardmen which were not military savy compared to the rest would be able to keep up the numbers game. In technology they would win, but they would simply be overcome by sheer force of numbers in a constant war of attrition. They needed a race to supplement their numbers and fast too. So far only one race comes to mind.

A single thought alone brought three bright flashes appearing in front of her physical avatar sitting on the Throne of Light. She needed no words to talk to them, thoughts and visions passed between her and the three who for a few seconds remained still as statues before bowing and disappearing altogether in another flash leaving her with the other Celestials. She smiled as she let her thoughts extend once more to the galaxy. For once...the works of the other Anathema may be of some use to her after beings stolen by the Chaos gods.

…

"Move in formation men! Come on! No lolylagging!" the familiar whip crack sound followed by a man's pained grunt made every many of the small company of soldiers wince as they tried their best to avoid the eyes of the political officer currently brandishing his whip at any soldier whom seemed slow in his eyes.

Into this small company of humans, a pair of eyes watched angrily the officer as he marched with his other brothers-in-arms. Unlike the other humans however, he was big…too big in fact. Almost nine feet in height and twice as bulky, he stood out like a sore thumb among the gathered men. Unlike them who were wearing a metal plate in the chest with a small metal cap with leather armor, he only wore a leather armor barely fitting him. It contrasted actually very badly with his dirty blonde locks and fair visage that would had fooled anyone that it belonged to a prince's face more than a common soldier.

"Hey Artorius," a familiar voice called out to him making the big giant look down at the six foot soldier at his side and also his best friend ever since he was drafted in the armor. "Eyes front brother, making that man pay for his cruelty isn't worth it. Remember, they are all watching," whispered Sigmar to him making Artorius grit his teeth as his hand left the massive claymore at his side (since swords looked more like toothpicks for him to be used as a weapon) and focused on hefting the last of the massive boulders with a heave as he shouldered it at his side.

"One day, they're gonna pay, all of them!" he growled, his tone coming out like a small thunder as he glared at the same officer beating the living daylights out of a messenger boy, one of the runners back and fro of the assembled army.

"I know my friend, I know," agreed Sigmar at his side. "But not today,"

"Not today," he reluctantly added as he marched alongside his friend to the ragged line of conscripts leaning wearily on second-hand spears as they make their trek towards the open gathering ground where other more conscripts from all over the land slowly trickle in.

Bretonia as usual was gearing up its legions to face down the might of the brutal Orks that had ravaged their land ever since the beginning of time. At least that's how Artorius' foster-father taught him. The geography of the land in this world was one big supercontinent with two very small pockets of land on the East and the North. At its center ruled Bretonia, the human kingdom which claimed the majority of the supercontinent and probably the last bastion of law and order in this world. Problems all over the land lay as a threat to it. Powerful Greenskins with their hordes, Norscan invaders from the Northern Continent with their barbaric ways, Skaven, rat-men that dwells on the bowels of the deep places of the earth, rogue sorcerers worshipping Chaos, bringing forth mighty legions from thin air and the ever elusive Elven Empire of the Eastern Continent with their capricious ways on the shades of their mighty forests. All these were threats to the Kingdom ever guarded by numerous legions of men ready to answer duties back and call.

The Orks however was the Kingdom's greatest concern. Nobody really knew where they came from, only that they had been here even before the Kingdom. Maddened like beasts they always come down from the Western Steppes where the Kingdom's armies cannot get to due to the cold weather there. From their assault points, they made it a habit of daily invading the kingdom's western baronies laying waste to every man, woman and child. This forces the kingdom of Bretonia to invest heavily on Legions to battle the ever constant threat of their raids which may range from several hundreds to thousands.

A small whip crack made Artorius grit his teeth as he saw another political officer beating the poor conscripts into marching harder to the front lines facing the slowly trickling green-skin horde at the distance. The Kingdom of Bretonia had always been ruled by fair leaders and kings. The constant threat to the kingdom tend to leave no room for power struggling. However the last king, Orelan the Fifth died early leaving the kingdom to his brother regent, Garlan the First since his son Cailan was too young. Unlike previous kings which were warriors, Garlan was an opportunist and slowly over the years removed political support for young Cailan that when it came for the young king to be crowned, he was delegated to military service in postponement by his uncle for experience. Right now, the whereabouts of the crown prince of Bretonia remained a mystery.

With the kingdom becoming a shadow of its former self as new leaders were installed which were opportunities and backstabbers like the self-proclaimed king, the people suffered under the new regime. However the threats remained surrounding the kingdom and once more despite being a shadow of its own self, heroes arise to combat the threat against it.

"Hey, is that the big giant?...,"

"Yeah, I heard it was the freak…,"

"What do you think have made him grow that big?...,"

"He is a human is he?...,"

"Ohhh what did his father fed him to make him grow that big?...,"

Artorius promptly ignored the whispers surrounding him as he fell in line on the center of the line with the rest of the conscripts, recruited from several farms which served as cannon fodder as the rest of the Kingdom's regular forces formed up on the right and left flanks. Fifty thousand men all in all gathered to face the Ork horde coming also slowly emerging from the forest.

Whereas the rest of the men in the large fighting force ranged from eighteen years of age and above, Artorius however was different. He was only twelve despite his size and many back home had called him a freak of nature. His deceased foster-father didn't hide the fact that he found him near the rice paddies outside his home trying to crawl out of a metal coffin. Artorius had no idea where he came from or even what he was. All he knows however was that he had to survive to go back home. His little sister, Eltariel needed him to come home. He was the only family she had left with his foster-father succumbing to the pox plague that occasionally ravaged the outlying towns of the area where he's living in.

"Hold fast men, here they come!" the call went out from one of the generals making Artorius brace shoulder to shoulder with his friend, Sigmar who was changing from hand to hand a mediocre looking blacksmith hammer that he preferred as a weapon. Sigmar was eighteen years old compared to him. However with Artorius being older in stature and mind, the two became fast friends in their village before they were recruited.

The roars and war cries of the Orks were indeed deafening as they charged in one massive rush like a tide of green slowly approaching the ragged human lines waiting for them. Everyone around him trembled like a leaf in the wind and he could smell more than one terrified human accidentally piss himself in fear as they failed to hide their fear of the Orks. They would be right in a way. Orks were big muscled creatures driven by rage and a bloodlust that humans don't understand. With conscripts like these, he calculated that it would take at least five spearmen to put down an Ork at full charge. Already his mind gave him the overview that this would not be an easy battle. In fact if he was honest enough with himself, he might even say that victory cannot be assured in this fight.

Still what can all of them do but fight?

At the forefront of the lines riding in a palomino massive warhorse was Count Cullen of Haldaran with the knights of his household, the most respected count on the Western side of Bretonia and one of the few people left that belonged to the Old kingdom as men call it before the rise of King Garlan the First.

"Don't be afraid men!" the old count called out to the rest of the army, his visage indeed heroic like the ancestors of old that Bretonia treasure in their hearts. "We will send these barbaric monsters back to the holes they crawled out of! Archers form up!"

The entirety of the front line immediately marched forward, each of the men holding massive longbows facing the approaching horde coming closer and closer. Despite their stoic expressions, Artorius could smell their sweat and trepidation as the green tide closes the distance even as they knocked their arrows.

"Archers! Fire!" the call went up and the front line wasted no more time sending an entire volley of death.

Hundreds of Orks immediately went down brought low by the powerful longbows. Thousands however remain and they simply trampled their own dead and wounded even as the archers sent volley after volley, the momentum of the charge barely lessening as they howled with glee trying to get in grips with the human army.

"This is it men! This is our finest hour! Our time of glory! Do not be afraid for all of us will die for a higher cause! Make our ancestors proud! Charge! Charge for the Lady and for Bretonia!" Count Cullen roared hefting the massive broadsword up in the air, aged hands still able to carry it as he rallied the army to a panicking group to a force worthy of the call of its name.

"CHARGE!" the call went out from throat to throat as the entirety of the battalion immediately ran forward brandishing peasant weapons, swords and spears with reckless abandon.

Artorius however let himself be simply swept with the tide, the Count's hearty speech barely making any impact on his emotion as his keen mind calculated the possible aftermaths of the battle. Sure the human army currently outnumbers the Orks but majority of his countrymen were simply recruits, farmhands, blacksmiths, potters and anyone pulled by the military to conscript that were able to hold the sword. Sure they may be hot-blooded and courageous right now, but once the killing stars, that courage will dissolve like a candle by the winters wind.

Gritting his teeth, he hefted his massive claymore off its scabbard, he jogged (since normal humans running seemed to slow for him) to keep in pace with his old friend, Sigmar who was trying to keep up with everyone despite his Warhammer. Already the distances between the two forces were so close that Artorius could smell the Orks, a combination of drool and sweat mixed together and left to rot for an entire week.

"CRUNCH!" the meeting of the two charging lines sounded like cracking stones. Bodies on both sides immediately fell. Powerful warhorse carried knights running down poorly armored Orks with their massive lances. Heavy duty infantry on both flanks either thrown off their feet or pushed back as the crude weapons of the Orks smashed on heavy shields and the sounds of dying as weapons met flesh.

In the matter of minutes all sorts of cohesion finally left the battlefield as it became every man for himself stabbing everything that even looked remotely green in their eyes as the battle for the nation became a battle for survival into each man. For Artorius, it was painfully obvious that whatever advantage the human army had before, have finally went up in smoke as the war degenerated into a bloody melee. A melee that the Orks were winning in a landslide as poorly trained conscripts got hacked or smashed to death by the gleeful Greenskins.

Artorius didn't waste any more time. Grabbing his claymore in a two-handed grip, he swung at the nearest Ork he could reach who was jumping over a fallen soldier. The Ork was dead before it even reached the ground, its head spinning off at the opposite direction.

"For the Lady!" roared the abnormal human, the traditional war cry of Bretonia for their deity fueling his emotions against the enemy horde. Throwing himself to a bloodlust that he never imagined he would ever had in his first battle, he pierced through the midst of the green tide. The massive claymore cleaved, stabbed, sliced and diced at every green flesh it could reach. The tide of Orks obviously seeing a better prey compared to the human army that was on the verge of retreat immediately turned against him. Artorius held his ground like an impenetrable rock over a tsunami of the sea, the massive claymore singing in delight at every death it dealt against the mass of Orks.

Everything seemed a blur for him as instinct took over common sense. He didn't recognize or take into thought any more of his actions. An Ork wielding a weird stuff got decapitated, another got its face sheared off, and another got bisected into two. Every single death was instinct, an instinct, to kill, an instinct to lead.

At his side protecting his flanks as the bodies continued to pour in were his friend, Sigmar and Count Cullen with his knights. The large leather armored farmhand was wielding the massive Warhammer in a professional way that only those who had trained from masters tend to do. Every blow of Sigmar was a gong of death, breaking bones and crushing rib cages with untold precision. Count Cullen on the other hand, had rallied his knights who despite unhorsed, had still manage to retain cohesion, wielding their massive lances usually only used on horse-back like a spear, thrusting and blocking as they plunged into the traitor's ranks and proving their rank and worth, crushing those wounded Orks under their metal boots.

"For the Lady! For Bretonia! For humanity!" roared Artorius still filled with crimson haze. The human army taking heart at their unannounced hero wielding the massive Claymore with skill and hacking Orks left and right as if they were nothing immediately rallied as they lunged at the now broken formation of the Orkish horde bashing skulls with hammers, skewering guts with spears or slashing with whatever sword skill they have.

As the battle raged on now in even ground, none in the army noticed the three beings hovering at the morning light, their glowing wings of energy barely seen, hidden by the morning sun.

"Is he the one that we're looking for Gabriel?" asked one of the beings, unseen eyes staring at the giant man tearing through the Orks with ease.

"I believe he is brother, Michael," the one with the black wings answered, at his side holding a massive scythe also of black color.

"What shall we do now?" asked one of the beings holding a harp. "We can't just pull him out of all of these,"

"Don't worry brother Raphael, I had an idea," the one called Michael smirked in his faceless appearance as he stared at their target down below. The goddess of creation always had a plan,"

...

Author's Note:

I am sorry for the late update. Busy with life. If you had any questions just post it on the review and Ill answer it for the next chapter. I had to ask though, will you guys be okay if I add the Sangheili to the Conclave? Let's just say I like them. Also the Unggoy, sorry but they're just too cute not to include. At least they're useless. In fact I had no idea how they will help in anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

…

"Hold fast men! I said hold the line damnit!"

"There's too many of them!"

"I wanna go home!"

"Mama! Mama!"

The sounds of the barking of orders, the crying, the dying and the moaning of the names of their dead relatives have always been a fact that is present on every battle. Coupled with it are the harsh grunts of flesh meeting flesh, the sound of shredded metal and the squelching sound as lifeblood spilled all over the ground by living beings.

For Artorius who have never been in a battle before, it is a surreal experience. With his enhanced senses, he could literally hear and notice every single thing that is going on the battlefield. The struggling mass of flesh of brown and green intermingling, each trying to gain an advantage over another. Although that sickens him a lot, he has no choice but to press on, the world turning into a blurry repeatiting of hack, stab and repeat at anything that resembling even the color of green.

While the human army of the Empire gained the advantage thanks to his suicide charge, that advantage for long did not last as the Orks who apparently supposed to slowly lose morale thanks to the danger that their position being overrun held, instead reacted as if Orkish New Year came early and faced head on the human charge with great vigor and glee. The human army unexpecting of the sudden maneuver of the green tide were stalled on their advance and were unable to organize their lines to counter the sudden movement of the Ork threat. What was supposed to be a close call victory turned to an all out rout as the human positions even become more precarious as out of nowhere from the back of the gorge they were situated, another Ork army arrived under cover of the morning mists catching the human army between a hammer and an anvil turning this way and that, royal troops and conscripts all falling the butchering axes of the Orks. Even the old baron fell alongside his loyal knights unwilling to leave the body of their liege to be defiled. This caused the army to be leaderless and whatever moral that it held for the past few hours immediately went up into smoke as the realization sets in that it was every man for himself.

However if there is one thing that can describe Bretonians, it is the fact that they are very stubborn, and brave when the occasion demands it from them. While the main army composed of conscripts from different farms and cowardly soldiers try to make a run for it. A few officers of the army loyal to the baron and belonging to the virtues of old Bretonia gathered whatever noble souls they could that would heed their cry and made a wall of shields at the edge of the grove serving as a rear guard to prevent the total route of the army to a full-fledged massacre. Led by Bann Teagan, the brother of the deceased baron, the five hundred men rear guard held the line against the endless tide of Greenskins who are now slowly finishing the last of the stragglers that didn't make it behind the safety of the Rear Guard wall of shields.

It's into this small band of volunteers that Artorius and Sigmar found themselves in. With the amount of prowess and skill that the two friends showed during their impromptu charge, it is only logical that they would be mandatorily chosen to be part of this suicide squad. After all, the longer they hold, the more chance for the soldiers to extend their distance from the coming chase that the Orks would surely make against the fleeing army of Western Bretonia.

"So I guess this is it huh?" Sigmar muttered at his side, the tall lanky warrior looking the worse for wear with his patched armor nearly torn, the chest plate on his breast cracked by a long gash. At his side strapped by a couple of belts nicked from dead soldiers are a bloody rag to staunch the bleeding that an Ork tusk made.

"I guess it is," Artorius simply replied as he stared at the charging Greenskins that is about to overrun their line. "At least we shall die side by side as brothers, all of us,"

Unlike the rest of the men who are slowly being overcome by nervousness and fear at the sureness of death that is approaching them. Artorius simply feels weary acceptance. It is true that even he with his strength and speed he can still be brought down, and no amount of skill in his part can make him win one against ten thousand. All that matters to him is the fact that he finished his duty to his family. Little Eltariel would be safe, the priestess living near their farm would have surely heard the news of the rout of the army. The entire western region of the kingdom would be evacuated in fear of being overrun except for the barons and their castles whom they would fortify by whatever men they could muster. She would take Eltariel with her alongside the other orphans and make for the nearest stronghold. His duty would however be making sure that they have time to run away and create as much distance as he could between them and the Orks, that means making sure that he survives as long as possible and keep the Orks focused on their small group instead of the civilians farther inland.

"You know we never talked about our hopes and dreams Artorius,"

"What?" Artorius simply stared at his soot covered friend who is testing a notched blade that he is swinging on his hand.

"Our dreams and hopes, what we want most for the future," answered the older teen now sheathing the blade and staring at his best friend with grey pierced eyes "I believe that it is high time that we tell each other what we really want in this world. At least we will have a chance to talk about it at least before we die,"

"I never knew you could be all sentimental my friend," commented Artorius earning him a bark of laughter from his best friend.

"I have my moments. Now who should start, you or me?" he asked.

"Of course it'd be you, but you better hurry it up. The Orks are coming this way in a few minutes,"

"Alright. I guess for me, it would be the fact that I hid my true personality to you," said the older teen making Artorius blink at his words as he smiled ruefully at the bigger boy. "I was born with the name, Cailan Callenhad, my father was Orelan the Fifth and of course, I am the currently disposed prince of Bretonia. I am named Sigmar by my nanny since she feared that I would be hunted down by the dogs of our beloved King Orelan if he ever got wind of where I am. So I guess that's it," he finished with a nervous smile on his face not noticing the fact that nearly every soldier in the vicinity have frozen as still as statues as the realization sets in that the young man is the lost prince of Bretonia.

As for Artorius, his face remained impassive as ice thanks to the superb genetic engineering his creator drafted into him. However inside he is reeling. Being raised as a farmer all his life, it is ingrained in his being to be subservient to royalty. To know that he has been brushing shoulders with the lost prince of the kingdom and rightful king, it is good enough to say that It is quite hard to swallow.

"Judging by the rock hard look in your face, you must be trying to process everything I've just said and connecting all the dots. But please my friend, don't start calling me your majesty anytime soon. I may be born royalty but I am not any kind of noble right now. I am still your best friend, the one who got a face full of mud and shit from your accurate throws,"

Trying hard not to gulp as every eye turned to him for apparently "throwing shit" at the prince royal, Artorius simply laughed nervously and is about to make a joke about it when a pained wail made all of them turn as they saw a man fall down, an axe having managed to cleave his skull into two. The Orks are finally here.

"Hold fast man! Hold! For Bretonia! For the Lady! We hold this line!" Bann Teagan roared, his bloody cavalry sword being brandished in the air as the soldiers stood side by side, shields interlocked. Now they would face the afterlife together as brothers.

"It's been an honor fighting and knowing you Artorius," chuckled Sigmar or Cailan, as he stared nervously at the approaching horde, his hand fingering the hilt of his weapon. "You know you never told me what it is you wish the most in this world,"

Artorius simply hefted the blacksmith hammer he has been wielding ever since the start of the battle staring at the green wave about to engulf them whole. Memories of him eating with his father and adopted sister near the fire, tilling the ground, planting the plants and sowing the seeds, memories of the laughter, the joy, that emptiness he saw in his adopted father's eyes as they visit the small plot of land where blue long-blossoms grow that is the grave of his adopted mother which he barely had any memory, memories of his adopted sister looking at other girls being walked hand in hand by the one that bore them, memories of his father trying to be the man and woman of the house at the same time.

"What I want is simply my friend," Artorius sighed as he took a deep breathe, his hand swishing like a lightning cracking open the skull of the first charging Ork within reach of their lines.

"What I want most is a mother!" he finished as the green line finally reached the wall of shields and spears.

None of them noticed the white figure atop them hidden in the sky and managing to hear every word that is shared below.

"Interesting," muttered Michael, his white wings gleaming in the sun. This would make his job even more easier than he thought.

…

While the armies of Bretonia try its best to stave off the main army of Orks, it isn't an unusual occurrence to see some roaming bands to slip past the net and challenge of the main army and raid the small farmlands that littered the West of Bretonia. For the people that settle on this part of the nation, it is a normal thing. After all, the army can't handle every single army that tries to challenge it. For the nobles and barons that rule over the lands, it is an acceptable risk. After all the bands doesn't contain numbers that could usually challenge the defense of the larger cities and castles that housed the nobles. For the peasants and common folk however, it is another story since they are the one after all being targeted by such marauders.

However with the Western army routed, the raiding bands that usually is the source of trouble for this people, are three times larger. It is not in the first time in the history of Bretonia that the Western forces have been routed. In fact the Orks in many generations managed to rout out the army several times prompting the men of the West to be more of a hardy folk compared to the rest of the kingdom. The sad fact however remains that in times of this Ork incursions, it is the peasants who gets the sharp end of the axe every single time.

It's into this nightmare that Eltariel found herself in. Western Bretonia is usually composed of wide sweeping hills and mountain ranges with wetlands between them that served as great fertile ground for farming. Fogs also are common on the area, especially in the morning giving it nearly zero visibility. With settlements and house steads separated from each other, it is very easy to receive an attack without warning.

Eltariel ran as fast as she can, her little legs trying to keep up with the long strides of Mother Giselle and five of the orphans that managed to survive the raid on the local church and orphanage. It had been a regular morning for her, wake up, feed the animals and till the fields that the six year old can manage. Her older brother after all was drafted to war and her older brother made sure that she had the assignment to take care of at least quarter of the field so that they will have something to use as income for the rest of the harvest season.

Alone, she has done her part. After all Eltariel despite reasons that she can't seem to fathom, she has an inclination when it comes to plants. Crops personally tended by her seemed healthier, grow faster and cut the harvest time by at least half. Despite the nervousness and loneliness on being alone for the first time, she did her duty. She does not want her brother returning and seeing the place a pigsty. They may be poor, but that doesn't mean that they are untidy.

So when Mother Giselle this morning barged out of nowhere and grabbed her hand, hauling her out of her home with barely an explanation, she was caught by surprise. The only reason she didn't plant her feet on the ground to stop the panicking nun was the dried blood that stained the red and white robes of the nun. They are colored green. It does not take an intelligent person to know that said blood belongs to Orks.

So here she is, running as if her very life depend on it, which it probably does.

"Hurry little ones! Whatever happens, don't look back," huffed and puffed the sweating nun. With her long robes and slightly chubby face, it is plain obvious that the nun seemed to have somewhere between zero and none in doing the physical side of things.

Eltariel is about to reply to the noble priestess that didn't abandon her that they are fine when a large "Whoomp! Whoomp!" sound filled the area. Seven pairs of eyes instinctively turned back at the source of the sound, just in time for an axe to appear out of the gloom and landed straight at the chest of the nun, making the chubby woman fly a few feet in the air before crashing on the muddy ground, her blood mixing with the dirt and grime, the once vibrant eyes now lifeless.

Before anyone of the children could scream in fear at the sudden violent death of their guardian, another four spears followed the flying axe skewering four of the children. They are dead before they even hit the ground.

As for Eltariel she can do nothing as she stood there rooted on the spot, small streams of tears falling down her childish angled face as she stared at twenty or at least Orks laughing and jeering emerging from the gloom. Fear she has never felt befoe devoured her entire being as her eyes glued at the massive Greenskins.

Despite their unintelligible language, it is quite obvious that they are arguing about their kills. Without warning, one of the big ones slap one of his "friends" before taking a massive hand-made crossbow, aiming and shooting at a heartbeat at them making Eltariel's eyes widen even more as the last orphan is literally split into different parts by the power of the crossbow.

Falling to her knees, all she can do is stare at the Orks now leering at her small frame. Gulping sounds of fear escape from her throat as her eyes met theirs. She knows there and then that she would die. This is her end. Where's her brother? He wanted her brother here? Where is he? Where is Artorius to save her like he always do? Didn't he promised that he'll be there for her always?

The scream in her throat remained stuck as the Ork pulled one of the spears from the dead body of a child, meat and blood still coating the pointy end of the spear. Raising it above her head, she can only stare at the Ork about to skewer her in silence. She can do nothing, she is nothing. She is about to die.

The Ork simply laughed at her terror as it then brought down the large spear that would cut her off from the land of the living. Her small angled eyes closed in instinct, unwilling to meet death face to face.

"SQUELCH!"

The ugly sound of tearing flesh made the small child scream as she then felt something wet and sticky cover her. Her childish eyes opened in instinct, opening wide in no small amount of fear and alarm as her brain registered what her eyes are seeing. In front of her where the massive six feet Ork stood before was the remaining half of the brute, with his upper body somehow absent showing the entrance of its lower innards. The rest its comrades also stand there frozen and it takes her a couple of seconds to realize that they are not staring at her, but rather behind her.

Almost dreading what she is about to see, her small head turned, and a garbled scream almost left her lips if not for the iron finger that silenced her lips making her shiver in instinct at the coldness that it radiated as it made contact with her flesh. In front of her is a cloaked figure black as midnight with intricate silver alignments at the edge of its cloak barely seen. Ghostly wings looking as if they're made of smoke adorned its back. At its free hand are two scythes colored in the blackest night, wispy smokes erasing the green blood stain that belonged to the Ork it just decapitated. The Orks hunting her may look terrifying but this being that radiated fear made them look like play-yard bullies playing as men.

" _Silence child,"_ it cooed in a rasping voice making the very ends of her hair stand in fear and alarm as she realized its addressing her. _"Do not fear any longer, the….Mother sent me to protect you. Now stay here,"_ it rasped before straightening up almost eight feet tall as it glided past her towards the remaining Orks who took hold of their crude weapons as if their very lives depend on it. In this circumstance, it may as well does.

" _So,"_ if faceless dark faces can smile, this one just did as it hefted the two massive scythes. _"Who would like to meet death face to face?"_ and the usual brave Orks who take great relish in combat ran as fast as their legs can carry them.

…

Two figures moved like wraiths over the great eaves of the woods of the West. With the usual fogs that bathed the region their passing is not noticed by anyone. Not that there is anyone to notice it anyway. Already the signs of raiding parties successfully ravaging the land are everywhere. Ruined, homesteads, abandoned farms, rotting headless corpses of men and women be they warrior or simple farmer littered the ground, their blood being drank by the earth. While the land of the western Bretonia referred to all of this as a part of their lives, no song, no written literature or word of mouth can compare it to the reality. The blood, the death. Even Artorius with his bioengineered emotions cannot fully tune out the sorrow that the gift of war leaves behind.

They barely managed to get out of that last stand that the rear guard put up against the Orkish horde. He is proud to call those men brothers. Six hours they held against the entire might of the Orks as they defended the pass with blood, bone, meat and steel. He lost count of how many he killed, the massive claymore he had been wielding ever since the battle started already notched, its weight and size being the only thing that made it a weapon any longer. His friend Sigmar or Cailan was badly wounded though he made his ancestors and bloodline truly proud with his abilities. It was only during the last hour did his best friend finally got thrown down to the ground as an Ork projectile lodged its on his side. Bann Teagan bade them retreat, the two of them, telling them to go and save their families if they still live knowing that the west region would soon embroil itself on an all-out war. Artorius promptly obade the young Ban knowing that they would never see each other again. As he carried a wounded Sigmar out of the last few twenty or so of the rear guard that held their line, the last thing he saw was Bann Teagan wielding a massive war-axe two handed as he felled his twentieth Ork. Those men were heroes and Artorius made a mental note never to forget them.

As it is, he has done his best to patch his best friend up before they finally made this long trek on the hills and dells of the western lands trying to get back to their small farms. He is not surprised to see the usual towns and villages abandoned. The residents must have heard the news from the fleeing army and probably made a run for it towards the nearest strongholds and baronies in the hopes that the high walls and towers could stave off the invading Ork armies till the rest of the relief force from the kingdom finally arrive. He just hopes that his sister is alright and made it away to safer waters. He does not know what he will do if he ever lost her.

"We're here," the voice of his friend said without warning nearly causing Artorius to trample the lesser man if not for his godly reflexes, too engrossed in his thoughts as he is.

Shaking himself off, he instead focused on the view in front of her that is the small town parish that belonged to Mother Giselle and her three guards that kept the peace in this small part of the region. One look however is all it takes to make his heart nearly jump out of his mouth.

The usually clean and inspiring building looked nothing alike to the parish that they remembered when they left. The pristine double doors that is the entrance of the church lay in ruins, same with the glasses, beautiful mosaics donated by the clergy now shattered, its pieces lying everywhere. Bodies are also here and there scattered all around, rotting; some are even missing heads and body parts, their forms desecrated by the Ork raiders that obviously passed through here. He recognized the two usual guards that served Mother Giselle impaled on the rising sun atop the church that symbolized the lady of Bretonia's faith. Their blood now stained the white and yellow design giving the holy symbol a malevolent look.

He may not be as designed as other humans, he is built stronger, better, the epitome of perfection as his father intended it to be. However despite all that he is still human. And what do humans fear most? It is the fact that they will lose the very thing that they hold dear. And for Artorius who has no property, no name and no power, the only thing that matters to him is family. With his surrogate father dead, and surrogate mother the same, the only person that is his family is his sister. And to see the people that is supposed to take her away to safety now lying in different forms of being dead, he can't help the black-hole that suddenly erupted in his heart threatening to pull down his very sanity as fear, rage, pity and hopelessness filled him. His sister can't be dead, she can't be dead! He knows that she is resourceful and she may have tried to escape. The more realistic part of him however recognizes the fact that what he's thinking about is a six year old whose concept of running away is hiding under the bed. If the raiders ever found her…

His friend must have noticed his anger slowly going to the danger zone for Sigmar placed a familiar hand of comfort that Artorius wanted nothing more than to brush away. He's going to return back to his home. He's going to check if his sister is there, and if she is dead, he would kill every single Ork that ever walked this land, even if it kills him doing so.

Standing up and ignoring the calls of: "Where are you going?" from the now revealed heir to the throne. He faced the direction of the road that leads to his home. He dare not hope, but he must that his sister might be alive. Already the large weightless claymore at his back seemed to bog him more and more down as the path of the warrior and that of vengeance reared its head like an ugly snake egging him more and more to chase down those that have taken his only family away.

Taking a deep breathe as he stride forward towards the direction of his home to confirm whether his worst fears are indeed true when a powerful flash of black made the two friends literally stop on their tracks at the sudden occurrence. Acting in instinct, Artorius' arms made a wide side slash of the heavyset claymore to whoever this intruder is only for a large scythe colored in night blocked it making the young man's arm numb to the bone thanks to the impact. The large claymore also looked damaged, the large flat of the blade almost cracking in half.

Glaring at the "intruder" who seemed to be some kind of ghost of the dead with its black cloak and hood with none of its face showing and the smoky wings, Artorius is just ready to call out to his friend to be prepared to fight for their lives against this shade of death (barring the fact that he's not feeling any fear), when his eyes bulged out of his eye-socket as a small blur emerged from the shelter of the specter's robes

A figure with a face that he's very familiar with.

"Brother!" the childish voice of Eltariel called out to him as the small tyke buried herself at his legs, her small arms hugging his hamstrings thanks to his height.

As his heart's burden lightened, Artorius can only glance at his sister and the dark specter looking at their reunion with a faceless smile. Only one word emitted from his mouth.

"How?"

…

The human capital of Bretonia had always been a place of beauty and magnificence. It had been the home of the kings and queens of Bretonia ever since its founding. Never did in its long years did an enemy of Bretonia reach its walls. With Bretonia's large armies fielded on its north, west, east and south territories, large armies of Orks, abominations and other such creatures never reached the capital. In fact not even the hundreds of revolts on its streets had been able to conquer the royal palace. The only way to enter such a mighty fortress is to attack it…

…from the inside.

Red wings of light flapped on the empty walls, the sound of the air that keeps the beating afloat the only thing that gives overview that something is alive inside. Eyes of energy beneath the hood looked left and right to the corpses that littered its way. Never did it expected that a palace built with noble intentions to be a bastion and representation of this kingdom against the threats that assailed it would fall like this.

Music is the water for the soul. It can give immense pleasure, inspire people, put hearts to rest and manipulate even the hardest of hearts. For Raphael it is a weapon of choice, the gift bestowed to him by the lady of creation to manipulate. Michael may be the Celestial of death, and Gabriel, the warrior of the lady, but he, he is the guardian, the guardian of justice in all hearts.

Suffice it to say, the reason why he is here is cleaning house. The lady of Creation have big plans for this world and its citizens. However her plan cannot start without him cleaning house first. Thus he is here. One melody, one song of justice and awakening of hearts brought all this.

He had expected that only a few would die thanks to the nobleness and the belief of the justice system that the people in this land hold so dear. What he did not expect was for almost all but a handful of them to start killing themselves as the very music that he echoed on the halls made them realize their personal mistakes, mistakes that encouraged them enough to commit suicide. He's a being of energy and an entity of eternity bound with the will of the goddess of creation. Suffice it to say, it takes a lot for him to be truly surprised.

As he stared at the empty thrones that belonged to the king and queen of Bretonia, non-existent shoulders shrugged. At least this way, the goddess can proceed without further problems on her plan.

…

At Terra, eyes that belonged to a being of Order looked up to the sky where the empty stars await. He has always paid extra attention to the weaves of fate. It is his duty to be attentive in case the Chaos gods turn their eyes to Terra before he can make it ready to face its horrors. For so long he has simply watched humanity from the sidelines….no longer. He must lead it to face against the darkness. Already in the weaves of fate, he can see a darkness coming that only his light can pierce. Yet surprisingly in a flaw of fate that even he cannot recognize, he saw another light, but this one does not belong to him.

"Interesting," the soon to be Emperor of Mankind muttered as he turned his gaze away from the stars to the next fortress of the warlord he would conquer. Apparently, someone like him is not alone.

...


End file.
